


requiem [blood of my blood]

by langstwins



Series: happy little pill 'verse [2]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe - BDSM, Alternative Universe - Dom/Sub, Angst, Bilingual Lance (Voltron), Cancer, Consensual Spanking of an Adult, Corporal Punishment, Dom Keith (Voltron), Dom/sub, Domestic Violence, Dysfunctional Family, Dysfunctional Relationships, Emotional Roller Coaster, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Explicit Sexual Content, Fluff, Heavy Angst, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Hurt/Comfort, Keith (Voltron) Angst, Keith (Voltron) Has Anxiety, Keith (Voltron) is Bad at Feelings, Keith (Voltron) is a Good Boyfriend, Keith (Voltron) is a Mess, Keith/Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) Angst, Lance (Voltron) is a Good Boyfriend, Lance (Voltron) is a Mess, Lance (Voltron) is a Ray of Sunshine, Light BDSM, M/M, Medical Inaccuracies, Original Character Death(s), Original LGBT+ Characters, Orphan Keith (Voltron), Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Multiple, POV Third Person, Past Child Abuse, Past Rape/Non-con, Physical Abuse, Safe Sane and Consensual, Smut, Sub Lance (Voltron), Tags May Change, Terminal Illnesses, honestly wow he so is, i have a doctorate in google research, probably, that should be a thing, that's a thing right
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-17
Updated: 2019-09-04
Packaged: 2019-10-09 01:10:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 167
Words: 132,443
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17397215
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/langstwins/pseuds/langstwins
Summary: Lance thought his life was finally back on track.He was claimed by an amazing Dom who loved him. He had two wonderful fathers-in-law and two fantastic friends. He was absolutely slaying it in college. He thought he was finally, for the first time in his life, allowed to be happy.He should have known better than to believe the universe would take pity on him.Because when his father's health takes a turn for the worst, the entire McClain family relocates in search of higher quality medical care. To be exact, they relocate five miles away from the university Keith and Lance are attending.And suddenly, Lance finds himself face to face once again with his father, whom he solemnly swore he would never speak to again. His father, who is now far too close for comfort.His father, who is dying of terminal cancer.Yeah. The universe definitely has it out for him.





	1. [I] hold onto me as we go

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHHHH OH??? MY???? GOD???? HERE IT IS, TWO DAYS EARLY BC I COULDNT WAIT. if you guys thought you were more excited than me for this sequel you were WRONG. ARE U GUYS READY FOR ACT ONE? BECAUSE I'M NOT.
> 
> act one, you ask? acts??? what to heck???
> 
> there will be twenty "acts" in this story. the act is basically just my way of helping myself organize the outline for this story and tackle each subplot. since it's a 342-chapter story, and there is a LOT of material to cover in the plot, i need some way help me organize the story. thus, the acts come in. i also hope they'll help future readers, who may read this fic after it's already completed, maybe find a good stopping place while reading at 3 am. i mean seriously, dude, you have work tomorrow. stop at act five and go the fuck to sleep.
> 
> there is no update schedule for this one. this story is of a chaotic-neutral moral alignment. we die like men 
> 
> as usual PLEASE. READ. THE. TAGS. FOR. CONTENT. WARNINGS.
> 
> this story is beta read! huuuge thank you to my wonderful betas for all your help! mwah! [EDIT 3/31/19: ahahhahaa i lied the first 2 acts are beta read the rest is not. i repeat: we die like men.]
> 
> without further ado...
> 
> "step into a scene and let it drip from your fingertips." - mj bush
> 
> ENJOY!

**ACT ONE** : **HOME**

**(chapters 1-9)**

* * *

 

["Home" - Phillip Phillips](https://youtu.be/BoYof-1Ssgo)

 

* * *

 

 "Where we love is home - home that our feet may leave, but not our hearts." - Oliver Wendell Holmes

 

* * *

 

“Good boy, Lance.”

He pressed his face into cool pillows and hummed at the praise. Hands grasped his bent knees and laid his legs straight, and a warm body crawled up his own.

“You did such a good job for me.”

Honey loitered in his veins and dripped from his fingertips, lapped up by the sheets that embraced him. Fabric clung to the sweat on his skin and begged for more. Lance didn’t offer more. He melted into an ocean of rippling bedspread; he gave all.

Keith had asked once, in dim candlelight with the smell of sex heavy in the air, what subspace felt like. Lance had no answer. No word in any language could capture such bliss. He cherished that concept, pressed it to his heart and held it tight. Subspace remained a secret that could not be told, only felt. He wanted to keep it that way.

The universe stole many things from Lance. Things that were rightfully his. Things he deserved. Things he ached in want of once they were gone.

Not subspace.

It would be pried from cold fingers, siphoned from dead lungs and clenched teeth, and scraped from every crawlspace in his soul before anyone took it.

“Anybody who wants to ruin that for you can catch these fucking hands,” Keith said after Lance stumbled through an explanation. “They’ll have to go through me.”

With that, Keith sealed the security of his promise. Lance believed his private world of tranquility to be safe. The universe itself would trickle sweat from its brow at the sight of a Kogane scorned.

Keith kept his promises. Keith took care of him.

Keith. Keith. Keith.

“Mm… _Keith_ …”

“I’m here, sweetheart.”

His Dom’s voice found him, pulsating through layers of white-soft-nothing to touch his skin. The words became a breeze that whispered love against his face and raised goosebumps across his body. _Sweetheart_ ; a pebble dropped in the middle of a lake where the ripple effect had no end.

“You behaved so well tonight. You’re a good boy, Lance. I love you.”

Gentle hands turned him on his side. Saccharine breath puffed against his jaw. Hot lips slaved over Lance’s right cheekbone, his eyelid, his mouth.

Subspace tugged him deeper, and he obeyed its call –

Only to be jolted back into awareness after what felt like seconds.

A phone rang. The bed shifted, and strong arms no longer encircled his waist. His fingers twitched against the quilt draped over him. Lance whimpered.

“Sir.” He didn’t feel his mouth move, but he recognized his own voice. “Back. _Please_.”

Keith muttered an expletive. Footsteps moved toward him, and the phone grew louder, closer.

“ _Shh_. I’m right here, sweet boy, you’re okay. Everything’s fine.”

Fingers carded through his hair, then slipped beneath the covers to rub his back. Lance hummed. Contentment once again flooded his chest. The ringing stopped.

“Adam,” Keith said, then paused. “What? Why? It’s almost eleven, and I have class in the morning. We weren’t exactly planning on going out...”

Whatever conversation Keith partook in, Lance had no desire to hear the rest. The temptation of subspace couldn’t be resisted. He drifted out of his body, floated above reality into a more ethereal plane, enjoyed a timeless ecstasy...

Keith pinched him.

A tug at the inside crease of his elbow turned sharp – the emergency switch to end his subspace cycle. A signal they’d agreed upon months ago. A signal they’d never used.

His brain, not yet decluttered, screamed in protest. Still, it knew better than to resist.

Lance jerked to life with a strangled gasp and a spike of adrenaline. His hands shook as he threw the covers off and rolled onto his back.

He moved to sit up. A hand flew to his chest and pushed him back into the pillows.

Keith loomed above him. He wore pursed lips, pinched brows, and a complexion one shade paler than usual. He looked sick. Lance’s heart pounded with concern.

“Keith?” He asked, somewhat frantic. “Babe, what’s the emergency? Are you okay?”

Keith made a visible effort to smooth out his expression. He cupped Lance’s face in both hands.

“Relax,” he said. “Everything’s fine. I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Lance sighed and deflated, shoulders slumped. “That’s called an _emergency_ switch for a reason, mullet. Why’d you do that?”

 _Mullet_ was a nickname he’d taken to using when his Dom annoyed him (mostly because the implication that he had a mullet bothered Keith intensely). He tried not to be upset at Keith triggering his emergency signal for the first time with no apparent reason.

That was easier thought than done.

To leave subspace early went against professional recommendation. And, standard practice aside, an incomplete subcycle felt _icky_. A mind post-subspace should sparkle with cleanliness and leave a sub ready to take on the world. The unexpected disruption made his typically low irritability levels rise tenfold.

Lance opened his mouth to whine about the situation, ready to pull out that pout Keith couldn’t say no to. Keith beat him to it.

“Adam called while you were under,” he said. “He needs us at the house. Now.”

“What?” Lance blinked. “It’s late. The house is almost thirty minutes away. What’s so important that it can’t wait until tomorrow?”

Keith took a deep breath and closed his eyes. Lance gulped.

“Veronica’s at the house. She’s looking for you.” Keith spoke slow and steady. A forced calm. “Adam tried to convince her to come back in the morning, but she’s refusing to leave until she sees you. She has an ‘urgent message.’”

Ice-cold shock hit his bloodstream. Lance shivered. “ _Oh_. Um. Okay.”

Keith opened his eyes. They shone with empathy – something Lance appreciated. Having a Dom who related to his feelings beat condescending pity any day.

He pressed a hand over one of Keith’s, thumb rubbing circles on his mate’s knuckles.

“I’m sorry,” Keith said. “I know you're not ready to talk to your family, but..."

“It’s not your fault. Did Adam tell you what her urgent message _is_?”

“She won’t say. She wants you to hear it first.”

Keith didn’t stop him when he sat up again. Lance leaned into Keith’s unclothed form, bare chests flush against one another, and pressed his lips to a muscled shoulder.

“That’s scary,” he said. The words were hollow.

“Are you scared?” Keith asked.

An urgent message in the middle of the night _should_ be scary. But did he feel scared?

“No.”

Lance felt nothing but numb. Limbs that curled and shook with pleasure not ten minutes before sat limp. He allowed Keith to soothe a nonexistent anxiety via kisses and roaming fingers.

 _Veronica._ Back in town and seeking him. The thought thrummed through his veins in time with his pulse.

Veronica, who had an ‘urgent message’ to share at eleven P.M. on a weeknight. He’d seen enough movies in his life to know urgent midnight calls were never good news.

“Lance?” Keith asked. Lance nuzzled into his neck. “You with me? We need to go get dressed. It’s going to be a long drive.”

Lance pulled away and mustered a bitter smile.

“It’s going to be a long _night_.”

God, was it ever.


	2. as we roll down this unfamiliar road

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey – listen. It’s going to be fine. You don’t have to talk to everyone else just because you talk to Veronica. It’s not a package deal.”
> 
> “That’s the thing, though.”
> 
> “What’s the thing?”
> 
> “I kind of don’t want to talk to Veronica, either.”

A hand tugged at his own, intertwining their fingers together. Lance jumped and stared down at the union of their palms. He made an effort to relax his muscles, one at a time.

After a moment, the tenseness left on its own. Lance melted into the seat and allowed the symbol of his Dom’s affection to soothe him. Warmth expanded in his chest; a hearth stoked from dying embers to a steady flame.

Keith glanced at him. He offered a reassuring squeeze and turned his eyes back on the road.

“What are you thinking about?” Keith asked.

“Well, for starters, I’m thinking you should have both hands on the wheel.” Lance tried to pry their fingers apart. Keith held on tighter.

“Solid advice.” His mouth twitched with a suppressed smirk. “But, uh, no. This is more fun.”

“I swear to God, you’re going to get us both killed.”

“Oh, hush.”

“I’m not associating with you in heaven if this is how we go.”

Keith laughed. “You think I’m going to end up in heaven? _Aww_. That’s sweet. Don’t worry, I’ll send you postcards from my fiery throne.”

“What kind of postcards would they have in hell?”

“I don’t know. ‘Wish you were here, babe, but you’re still hotter than me’?”

Lance laughed, too, and threw his head back against the seat. Keith’s grip tightened, white-knuckled, cutting off the circulation in Lance’s fingers. He didn’t complain.

Keith was incredibly talented at that, making him laugh. He made Lance think maybe everything wasn’t so bad, after all, even when the world crumbled around him.

“Analog mail _and_ terrible pick-up lines?” Lance said. “Wow. You’re right. That does sound like hell.”

“Maybe I’ll leave the shitty flirting to you.”

“Hey! _Rude_.”

Keith pressed a kiss to the back of his hand, muffling a grin. “Sorry.”

“No, you’re not.”

“Nope. I’m not. I told the truth. Sue me.”

Keith looked at him, expectant. Lance opened his mouth to form a retort – only to find he didn’t have one.

Their banter faded, and Lance’s humorous mood along with it. Silence stretched out longer than it should have – but Lance didn’t really consider it silence. The trembling of the engine and four rolling tires deafened him.

“You didn’t answer my question,” Keith said quietly.

“What question?”

“You know which one. What are you thinking about?”

“Narrow it down to one thing? Can’t, sorry.”

“One at a time, then.” Keith’s thumb rubbed over the back of his hand. “What’s the first thing? Don’t think about it. Just talk.”

“Urgent midnight calls are never good.”

“You’re right. They aren’t. Next?”

Lance blinked. Keith stared through the windshield.

“That’s it?” Lance asked. “No reassurance?”

“What, you want me to sugarcoat it?”

“I... _well_. No.”

“Alright, then. Urgent midnight calls are never good. Sorry. Next thought.”

Lance took a deep breath. Inhale, four seconds. Hold, seven. Exhale, eight. His lungs loosened. The panic edging his vision faded.

Dr. Heigel made her methods sound cheesy, but they worked.

It never got easier to share his more serious thoughts, these ghosts that haunted him. Lance kept his gaze downcast, because something about it felt safer. Made him less likely to tip over and spill all of himself out in the open.

“I’m not ready to see the rest of my family again.” He picked at a loose thread on his shirt’s hem. “I don’t know if I ever will be.”

“Who said you had to?” Keith asked.

Lance could see Keith’s expression in his mind’s eye, a twisted frown that stretched further on one side and his nose crinkled around the edges.

“Nobody did,” he said. “I just have a bad feeling.”

“Lance, it’s only Veronica. She came to graduation. I thought you two were fine.”

“We are.” Lance shifted. His ankles crossed, uncrossed, then hooked around the other way. The fingers of his free hand tapped against his thigh. “But I don’t get why she needs to see us right this second. Why can’t it wait until morning? It has to be – _really_ urgent. That’s scary, you know?”

Keith sighed long and loud through his nose.

“Okay,” he relented. “I see why you’re worried. You want me to be honest?”

“Yes, please.”

“I’m worried, too.”

Lance gulped. “Can I take back my _yes, please_?”

“ _Hey_ – listen. It’s going to be fine. You don’t have to talk to everyone else just because you talk to Veronica. It’s not a package deal.”

“That’s the thing, though.”

“What’s the thing?”

“I kind of don’t want to talk to Veronica, either.”

“What?” Keith glanced rapidly between his sub and the road. “Why not?”

“Keith,” Lance said wearily. “Keep your eyes on the road. No, I don’t want to talk to her. It was nice of her to show up for graduation, but she still ignored me. And not just after I sent the invite. She didn’t say a word to me after I left for the Garrison. Not until that voicemail.”

“I know, sweetheart. What do you want to do?”

Lance opened his mouth, then closed it. His shoulders slumped.

What _did_ he want to do?

“Hear her out, I guess,” he said. “I want some more time. But I can’t just abandon my sister if she needs me.”

“It’s your choice.” Keith winced. “That’s...probably not what you want to hear, though. I’m sorry I can’t do more to help.”

Lanced raised his eyebrows. “What are you talking about? You’re more than helping. I wouldn’t be able to survive all this garbage without you.”

“Really? That’s – good to know.”

Keith looked genuinely touched. Lance’s heart turned to mush at the sight, spreading warmth through his entire chest.

“I thought you already knew. Keith, of course you help me. You _existing_ helps me. Thank you.”

Keith blinked a few times, eyes growing suspiciously misty, and swallowed. “You’re welcome.”

A familiar road curved beneath them. Their headlights illuminated a white porch with chipped paint as they pulled into the driveway. The car hummed to a stop. Crickets chirped outside the window, and Lance found he associated the noise with _home_. They didn’t have crickets on campus.

His breath came faster. He dug his heels into the floor of the car – a sorry attempt to ground himself.

“Don’t panic.” Keith hovered hands over his chest. Ironic, how Keith sounded so panicked himself.

“I’m fine.” Lance placed a hand over one of Keith’s and pressed them both to his chest. His heartbeat thrummed at ten fingertips. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure you're ready for this?”

Lance offered a shaky smile.

“I have to be.”


	3. and although this wave is stringing us along

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Papi...he has a malignant brain tumor. It’s terminal. He’s dying, Lance.”

The house still smelled like patchouli.

Shiro’s oil diffuser claimed its usual spot on the side table just inside the entryway. It released another stream of scent as they passed.

“I’ve really missed you guys,” Adam said with a slight smile as he clicked the door shut. “It hasn’t been the same.”

“School started a week ago, Adam.” Keith’s lips twitched. “It’s literally been seven days.”

“Yes, it has, and I’ve missed you all seven days. Problem?”

Keith only rolled his eyes, but Lance understood at once that Adam wasn’t entirely joking. He heard every creak of the house settling when their conversation lulled. Silence wasn’t becoming of their home. Adam had to be losing his mind.

His heart skipped a beat when he saw her.

Veronica paced in front of the couch, shoulders hunched and a nail between her teeth. Lance ran the pads of his own fingers over a jagged thumbnail, gnawed down as far as it could go. Like brother, like sister.

Her head snapped up when Adam led them into the living room.

“Lance,” she said, little more than an exhale that just so happened to carry his name.

She opened her arms for a hug, and Lance froze.

Keith’s hand, firm and reassuring on the small of his back, fell away. His Dom stepped back, not so much encouraging him to accept an embrace as granting him the freedom of choice. It felt like abandonment all the same. A lifeguard dropping him in open waters.

Veronica didn’t wait for permission. She invited herself to hug him. Her arms wrapped around his torso, fingers twisted in the back of his shirt, face buried in his chest.

Lance didn’t hug her back. His arms remained stiff at his sides. She either didn’t notice or didn’t care.

“Hey,” he said. The greeting fell flat, but what was he supposed to say?

Frankly, Lance didn’t want her to be there, tarnishing the Wyler/Shirogane home with her presence. He felt like he should apologize to Adam for her intrusion.

“Hey.” Veronica laughed a little. She pulled back, smile bittersweet and eyes twinkling

Her face fell when his stony expression stared back at her, unwavering.

“Why are you here?” Lance asked.

Veronica’s hands fell from his arms. She pursed her lips, and her eyes glistened in a way they hadn’t thirty seconds before. Lance didn’t feel bad about it.

“I have something to tell you,” she said. “Somebody should have told you months ago, really, but Papi didn’t want you to–“

“Veronica,” Lance said. “You said this was urgent. Just tell me.”

She took a deep breath. He took one of his own. Four, inhale. Seven, hold. Eight –

“Papi...he has a malignant brain tumor. It’s terminal. He’s dying, Lance.”


	4. settle down, it'll all be clear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the second time, she turned up on the doorstep of a home that so lovingly healed his wounds only to drop a bombshell. Only to release toxins in the air that made his lungs stutter. Only to wound him all over again.
> 
> Lance was beginning to sense a pattern.

Lance stumbled back a step, breath caught in his throat.

“Glioblastoma,” Veronica said. “Stage four.”

His fingers curled into fists. “I didn’t ask.”

She blinked. Her lips pursed into a thin line, and she turned her head away.

“I know you guys never got along,” she said. “But – _Lance._ He’s dying.”

For half a second, the tremble of her voice prompted guilt. Then her words sank in.

“Didn’t get along?” Lance clenched his jaw hard enough to ache. “Are you serious?”

Keith’s hand settled on his back once more. Lance fought the urge to jerk away from his Dom’s touch.

On the mantel sat a framed picture of fourteen year old Keith’s first day in his Garrison uniform. Veronica stared right through it. Her chin jutted in determination, but the effect was lost in her refusal to make eye contact.

“You didn’t,” she said. “Luis never got along with him, either. That doesn’t mean you can–“

Lance brought a fist down on the back of the couch. Veronica’s nose twitched at the dull thud, her only reaction to his anger.

“We didn’t get along because he treated me like shit!” He took a single step toward her.

“ _Lance_.”

Lance paused. Keith’s voice was low, a warning for both his language and his rare temper.

He forced his fingers to unfurl one by one, transforming his fists into semi-open hands so he wouldn’t be as tempted to punch the furniture.

And then reality hit him. It hit him like a train. Lance swore he felt a physical impact against his body.

His father had terminal brain cancer. His father was incurably sick. His father was dying.

Keith’s hand no longer rested on his back. He held Lance at the bicep in a tight grip. Lance swallowed, and his knees shook. He wavered where he stood.

“I think I need to sit down,” he said.

Adam came into view and grasped his other arm. “I think that’s a good idea.”

They led him to the couch. Lance couldn’t help but feel ashamed that he needed their help to do something as simple as sitting. He’d grown acclimated over the months to some level of independence. Being maneuvered to the sofa by others left a sour taste in his mouth.

“I’m fine,” he said. “I can do it myself.”

“You were about to faceplant.” Keith narrowed his eyes at Veronica. “Somebody should have _told_ you to sit before giving you bad news. It’s kind of a common courtesy.”

Lance squirmed out of his hands and sank into the cushions. “I said I needed to sit. I didn’t say I needed help doing it.”

A look of hurt flashed over Keith’s face. He let go all the same.

“There’s more,” Veronica said. She stared at her own shuffling feet, arms crossed protectively over her chest.

Lance grit his teeth and closed his eyes. “How much worse is this going to get?”

“We moved. We’re not in Miami anymore.”

“Veronica.” His heart throbbed in his throat. “Don’t say it.”

“We’re here now. In Plant City. I’m so sorry, Lance.”

She sounded sorry enough, but it meant little to him. The lack of communication about their father’s condition and the family’s sudden change in location felt familiar.

For the second time, she turned up on the doorstep of a home that so lovingly healed his wounds only to drop a bombshell. Only to release toxins in the air that made his lungs stutter. Only to wound him all over again.

Lance was beginning to sense a pattern.


	5. don't pay no mind to the demons, they fill you with fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It wasn’t like that,” she said quickly. “Papi didn’t want us to tell you. He was still pissed you didn’t come home for Christmas.”
> 
> “When did he want me to know?”
> 
> “After we buried him.”

“How long does he have?”

Veronica perched on the edge of the ottoman and shook her head.

“A few months,” she said. “Maybe six, tops.”

Lance blew a slow exhale against his Dom’s neck. He nuzzled into soft black strands, seeking comfort in the familiar scent of his shampoo. Keith’s arm tightened where it draped over Lance’s shoulders.

“When was he diagnosed?”

Veronica bit down on her bottom lip. She studied her fingernails.

“Vee,” Lance said – a nickname he hadn’t uttered in over a year.

It caught her attention. She stared at him, eyes wide. “In February.”

Lance knew at once why she was so hesitant to tell him. That truth landed her in treacherous territory.

He narrowed his eyes. “You knew when you came to graduation?”

“Well – yeah.”

“And you didn’t _say_ anything?”

Veronica opened her mouth and looked at him in a pleading way. Anger burned deep and steady in his chest, and she must have felt it. Lance had no sympathy for her.

“It wasn’t like that,” she said quickly. “Papi didn’t want us to tell you. He was still pissed you didn’t come home for Christmas.”

“When did he want me to know?”

“After we buried him.”

That shouldn’t have hurt as much as it did.

Lance knew he was a sore spot on Alexander McClain’s reputation. He’d been raised to see his father as an unattainable authority, one who could (and often did) go weeks on end without saying a word to him. To have his only sub child be so reckless and daring, too unruly for him to control, mortified his father deeply.

Alexander disillusioned himself and his peers into believing he was a Dom with power surging through his veins. Lance was a challenge to that. Therefore, Lance was unwelcome.

And it hurt. After nineteen years of knowing nothing else, it still hurt.

Any anger he felt toward Veronica faded in an instant. None of this was her fault. She was just as scared of their father as anyone else.

His shoulders slumped. He leaned heavy against Keith, relying on the most familiar thing he knew to ground him.

“Okay.” Lance gulped. “So why Plant City?”

“He considered a few other places,” Veronica said. “He was looking for a good oncology ward.”

Adam nodded from where he sat on the arm of the couch. “Plant City Regional’s oncology department is nationally renowned. Not a bad choice.”

“Not helping,” Keith said, and Adam winced.

Lance shook his head. “It’s fine. I want to know.”

He ran a hand through Keith’s not-mullet, the soft texture soothing between his fingers. Veronica watched the three of them interact with an unreadable expression.

“Papi knows you’re nearby,” she said. “But he got really pissed whenever someone pointed out how close we were moving to the Garrison, so we all just...stopped talking about it.”

“Understandable,” Lance said. He wouldn’t risk pissing Alexander off, either. “How long have you been in town?”

“A few days. We’re still moving in.”

Lance paused. He reached down and gripped Keith’s hand for moral support, anchoring himself. “He doesn’t know you’re here, does he?”

Veronica tensed. She looked away. “No. I waited until he went to bed. I wasn’t supposed to contact you at all.”

“But you did.”

“Yeah. I did. You deserve to know the truth.”

Lance wondered if she knew _his_ truth. If she was aware of the extent of everything he’d been through since leaving Miami, or if she only had the bare bones of his story. If she’d seen Shiro’s video.

He didn’t ask. The fear of what she might say paralyzed him. Veronica didn’t seem like the type to brush off an assault victim as melodramatic or a liar, but he’d been treated as such enough times for testing the waters to lose its appeal.

After a too-long stretch of silence, Keith cleared his throat. “It’s getting late, and we kind of have some early classes tomorrow, so...”

Veronica’s shoulders slumped, but she nodded. “Oh – yeah. Of course. I’m sorry. I didn’t even think about that.”

She rose to her feet. Lance reluctantly untangled himself from Keith’s arms to give her a stiff hug goodbye. She wasn’t nearly as eager this time around.

“Take care of yourself,” she said in his ear. “I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Lance nodded. “Yeah. Okay.”

He didn’t want to talk to her later. He would rather disregard the entire night, pretend this never happened, and live out the remainder of his life pretending his family had never existed.

But it didn’t look like he’d be getting away from them any time soon.


	6. the trouble, it might drag you down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith huffed. The breath ruffled a few of the hairs that fell untrimmed against Lance’s forehead.
> 
> “I hate his motherfucking dad,” he said. Adam quirked an eyebrow. “What a fucking bitch.”

The entire night felt like a fucking fever dream.

One stiff hug from Lance, awkward handshake from Adam, and death glare from Keith later, Veronica was gone. Adam stepped outside to see her off. The sound of her car purring to life came as a relief.

Keith found himself unwilling – or, more accurately, unable – to move from his spot on the couch. The gorgeous sub asleep on his shoulder would surely wake if he did.

God knew Lance deserved some rest after that whole shitshow.

Keith wasn’t very fond of Lance’s father, despite never having met the man and knowing little to nothing about him. It wasn’t exactly a secret. Whenever he came up in conversation, Keith was quick to make belittling jokes at his expense in an attempt to draw even the smallest laugh or smile from his sub. It usually worked.

But he’d never wanted the guy to die. Sure, he was a huge dick who forgot his own child to the point of letting him starve at boarding school. He deserved to rot in prison. He deserved a good, square punch in the jaw. He sure as hell didn’t deserve a son like Lance.

Terminal cancer? That was maybe pushing the karma envelope a bit too far.

Of course, Alexander himself was the least of Keith’s concerns in that situation. The troubled frown on Lance’s face while he slept bothered him significantly more.

Keith exhaled a shaky sigh. He smoothed his thumbs over the corners of Lance’s mouth, disappointed but not surprised when the expression of turmoil remained.

This was going to _suck_. Every last moment until Alexander’s death, and probably every moment for a good while after. And there was nothing Keith could do to spare Lance from any of it. All he could do was hold his sub’s hand and weather the storm with him. It didn’t feel like enough.

But it would have to be. He had nothing else to offer.

The front door creaked, and Adam shuffled back inside. He shot Lance’s sleeping form a sympathetic look.

“How are you feeling?” Adam asked in a whisper, settling into the loveseat.

“I’m not the one you should be asking,” Keith said.

“Well, the person I might have asked _first_ is sound asleep, so I’m skipping to the second.”

“It doesn’t matter how I feel. It’s not my family. I feel fine.”

“Son. Don’t kid yourself. I can read you like a book.”

Keith huffed. The breath ruffled a few of the hairs that fell untrimmed against Lance’s forehead.

“I hate his motherfucking dad,” he said. Adam quirked an eyebrow. “What a fucking _bitch_.”

“You’ve never even met him.”

Keith shot him an indignant look. “Neither have you, and you still know he’s a dickwad.”

“Do I know he’s an ass? Yes. Am I fuming about a man I’ve never met in the middle of the night? No, that one’s on you.”

“I don’t know why you care so much who I fume over. That dumbass keeps hurting my sub. Of course I’m fuming.”

“And how, exactly, do you think your fuming is going to help Lance get through the next few months?”

Keith opened his mouth, then froze. Adam smirked and gave his son a knowing nod.

“It’s not,” Keith said. He ground his teeth together. “God, you being right is like an actual, physical knife in my back. Please never be right again.”

“Save the banter for your sub, son.” Adam yawned. “I’m too old and tired for that.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. It’s way past bedtime for senior citizens, isn’t it? Now you might miss your early-bird breakfast special.”

Adam fought a smile – and failed. “What did I just say about banter?”

“That you’re too old and crusty to have fun. Yeah, heard you loud and clear.”

Lance stirred against him, and Keith realized a moment too late how he and Adam’s voices had raised in volume as they spoke. The sub’s eyes fluttered and he blinked a few times. Keith muttered a curse beneath his breath.

“You should get him home,” Adam said, nodding toward a half-awake Lance. “He’s going to need all the sleep he can get.”

Keith nodded, wincing a little as he gently shook Lance’s shoulder. He would let him sleep and carry him if he could, but he definitely couldn’t.

“Wha’?” Lance yawned into his shoulder, eyes fluttering closed. Keith shook him again. “ _Nnnhh._ Stop it.”

“You have to get up, sweetheart,” Keith said. “I can’t carry you. You’re too heavy.”

Lance mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like _no,_ you’re _heavy, bitch._ He mercifully chose to ignore it. Partially because he couldn’t guarantee his sub had actually sworn, but mostly because it was really fucking adorable.

Keith was halfway to the door, Lance stumbling along with arms wrapped around his shoulders and nose nuzzled into his hair, when a thought struck him. _Get him home,_ Adam had said.

Keith turned. “Hey, Adam?”

“Yeah?” Adam paused, one foot on the stairwell.

“Just for the record – this house? _This_ is home. Not some stupid dorm.”

Adam swallowed.

“I know,” he said. “Thank you, Keith. I love you boys.”

“Love you, too. ’Night.”

“Goodnight, son.”

Adam ascended the stairwell. Lance snorted into Keith’s hair.

“Cheesy bitch,” the sub mumbled almost incoherently.

Keith grit his teeth. “God, you’re so lucky I’m too nice to punish you while you’re half-asleep, Lance McClain.”

“Edgy bitch.”

“ _Lance–_ “


	7. if you get lost you can always be found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You know that dream you had last week?” Keith asked.
> 
> Lance’s eyes widened. “The one where we saw snow in Times Square?”
> 
> “That’s the one.”
> 
> “Please tell me this is going where I think it is.”

Keith smiled at the sub curled up to his bare chest, running fingers through his lover’s hair. Lance stirred against him, mumbled something indistinguishable, and sighed before going still again.

It was nice to see Lance sleeping so soundly. His nap on Adam’s couch the night before hadn’t looked nearly so peaceful.

Sunlight blared through the window of their shared couple’s dorm – something the university so creatively provided for Doms with claimed subs who wished to attend the school together. The only downside was the placement of the window. Mother nature regularly woke them before their alarms. Keith had yet to buy a blackout curtain to cover the damn thing, though Lance nagged him about it daily.

In that moment, though? Keith hardly wanted to hide from the sunshine. It landed so wonderfully on Lance’s face, illuminating his mocha skin. His sub practically glowed in the light (he glowed everywhere, actually, but that was besides the point).

After a few minutes, Lance blinked. He yawned into Keith’s chest and stretched his legs beneath the covers, then turned up his gaze to offer a sleepy grin.

“That was a good dream.” Lance nuzzled against his skin.

Keith moved his hand from Lance’s hair. He stroked his jawline and the sharp protrusion of his cheekbone instead.

“What was it about?” Keith asked.

“My birthday trip.”

“Cuba?”

“Mmhm.”

Keith smiled. “That was fun.”

“I never wanted to leave.”

“Oh, I remember. I never thought I’d make somebody cry by saying ‘check-out’s at eleven.’”

“Hey! I didn’t cry.”

“You were about five seconds away from waterworks.”

Lance scowled. “I was not.”

Keith leaned down to kiss his forehead. He stroked down his sub’s face with both hands, rubbing thumbs over his eyelids and knuckles across his cheeks. Lance hummed, expression melting into something much sweeter, and his eyelids fluttered under the ministrations.

Keith smirked. “Sure you weren’t, babe.”

Lance blinked at him, confused for a moment before he came back to himself. A light blush dusted his cheeks when he realize the ease with which Keith had subdued him.

“Okay, that was cheating.” Lance huffed as he propped his elbows up on Keith’s chest. “It’s not a real win if you just pet me into submission.”

“Would you like me to _something-else_ you into submission?”

A darker color twisted Lance’s eyes and settled in around suddenly large pupils. He leaned in to Keith’s lips, blowing hot breath against them.

“ _Yes_ , Sir,” he whispered.

Keith growled. The vibration made Lance shiver where their chests were pressed together. Keith hooked his ankles around Lance’s calves, held his smaller biceps in a tight grip, and flipped him roughly. Lance grunted at the impact, but didn’t complain.

His sub whimpered a little, eyes wide, and Keith knew he’d won. Fair and square, this time.

Keith attacked soft flesh with his mouth, sucking and biting the more tender parts of Lance’s neck. He left an intentional scrape over his sub’s Adam’s apple with his teeth, knowing he found pleasure in the pain. Sure enough, Lance winced even as he moaned, low and guttural.

Their mingled sounds, both breathy and desperate, were cut short when an alarm blared.

Keith nearly fell out of the bed. He fumbled one hand over the nightstand until he found his phone, tapping at random over the screen until the sound ceased.

When Lance next groaned, it was not with lust, but disappointment. He dropped his head back into the pillows. “Seriously?”

Keith sighed. “Sorry, sweet boy. I’ve got class in an hour.”

Lance wore a dramatic pout. It was childish. Ridiculous. Stupid. Keith wanted to memorize it, ingraining the picture in his mind for all of eternity.

“You have to make it up to me tonight,” Lance said. “I thought you were going to _something-else_ me into submission. You lied. You’re a lying...liar.”

Keith leaned down and blew an intentional breath into Lance’s ear. Lance shivered against him. Keith bit his earlobe.

“What, you want me to fuck you until you scream?”

“Oh, God. Yes.”

“ _Hmm_. I don’t know if you deserve it. You’re being awfully mean, calling me a liar. And you called me a bitch last night. That wasn’t very nice...”

Lance whimpered. His hips bucked. Keith smirked triumphantly as he pressed a hand on his sub’s stomach, forcing him to lay flat on the bed. Lance looked at him with wide eyes, practically begging.

“How much time do you have?”

“Not enough.” Keith stroked the smooth skin over Lance’s collarbone, then leaned to kiss it.

“That’s not fair. You got me all worked up for nothing.”

“I can make it up to you.”

“How?”

Keith pursed his lips, thoughtful. Lance raised an eyebrow.

“You know that dream you had last week?” Keith asked.

Lance’s eyes widened. “The one where we saw snow in Times Square?”

“That’s the one.”

“Please tell me this is going where I think it is.”

The sunlight illuminating Lance’s face enhanced his hopeful expression.

“If you can be a good boy this semester...” Keith paused, leaning down to press a kiss to Lance’s cheek. “...we’ll go see snow on winter break. Deal?”

“Are you serious? Please tell me you’re serious.”

Keith laughed, nodding. “Yeah. I’m serious.”

“Deal!”

Lance was out from beneath him in an instant. He pushed Keith’s shoulders away from his own and scrambled off the bed, then dug through the dresser and pulled out a random, wrinkled shirt. He held it up to Keith, silently asking permission to dress himself.

“Yeah, fine. Go ahead.” Keith turned on his side, propped his head on one hand, and grinned. “Somebody’s a little excited.”

“Understatement!” Lance said, squirming with the shirt halfway over his head.

“I don’t know why you’re in such a rush. We’re not going to New York _today_.”

Lance popped his arms through the sleeves and threw one of Keith’s tops in his general direction.

“Of course we’re not,” he said. “What we’re going to do is get coffee and talk travel plans before you change your mind and back out.”

“First of all, I would never do that to you. Also, I _just_ told you, I have class.”

“I’m a quick planner. Don’t be lazy! Get up!”

Keith scoffed in mock-offense. A pair of jeans hit him square in the face.

Coffee it was, then.


	8. just know you're not alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Is there anything I can do?” Keith asked.
> 
> Lance started to shake his head, then paused. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and began to scroll through his messages.
> 
> “Yeah,” he said. “You can tell me how I’m supposed to respond to this.”

Keith’s breath caught in his throat at the sight before him.

Lance sat on the edge of the fountain where they’d taken to meeting at the end of the day, watching his own crossed ankles swing. The water trickling behind him splashed the occasional droplet onto the back of his shirt, which the wind rippled through. His hair was a mess in the best possible way.

A major highlight of Keith’s day was catching glimpses of his sub when Lance had no idea he was looking. He was most beautiful when he was genuinely himself, unsaddled from the opinions or expectations of others.

As he came closer, though, Keith’s heart dropped. Lance wore the barest of frowns. His brows were drawn, and he worried his bottom lip between his teeth.

“Hey,” Keith said. “You alright?”

Lance jumped, looking up with wide eyes.

“Oh.” He blinked. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“You don’t look fine.”

Keith lifted himself onto the edge of the fountain, pressing closer to Lance until their legs lay alongside one another. Lance mustered a faint smile.

“I’m just thinking. You know. My dad, and stuff.”

“I know. I’m sorry, sweetheart. I was kind of hoping planning a trip would make you feel better.”

“It did, actually. A lot. But then we were in different classes all day, and I just had a lot more time to think.”

Keith frowned. He placed a hand over a darker, softer one. Lance turned his hand over, gladly accepting the union of their palms. He wrapped his fingers tight around Keith’s knuckles.

“Is there anything I can do?” Keith asked.

Lance started to shake his head, then paused. He slipped his phone out of his pocket and began to scroll through his messages.

“Yeah,” he said. “You can tell me how I’m supposed to respond to this.”

Keith skimmed the screen. The contact name read _Veronica_ , and the message was a simple: _can we meet up? doesn’t have to be at the house. just want to talk to you again._

“Well.” Keith sighed. “I guess it depends. Do you want to see her again, or not?”

“Hey. What’s with you leaving all these decisions up to me lately? I hope you remember you’re the Dom here.”

“I can’t choose for you.”

Lance deflated and took the phone back.

“I know you can’t,” he said. “It’s my life. It would just be easier if somebody else could decide these things for me. Wishful thinking.”

Keith shook his head. “You don’t want to leave this choice in somebody else’s hands. You might think you do, but you don’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because someday that choice might catch up with you. Doesn’t seem very fair to pay the price for a decision you didn’t make.”

“Ew. We’re talking consequences and responsibility now? Keith. Come on. What are we, adults?”

Keith laughed. “Well, _technically_ , yes.”

He swung his legs to propel himself off the fountain, then held out a hand to help Lance do the same.

Lance moved with an abundance of grace. Keith drank in the sight like it was the last he’d ever see. If it was, it would be more than enough.

Here was this guy, tall and lanky, all boy and wrestling in the mud with Hunk and loud, abrasive speech.

Here was this guy with the body of a dancer, moving just as splendidly as if he was. Every step Lance took was choreography.

These descriptions might have seemed like contradictions to anyone else. They weren’t to Keith. It was just – _Lance_. His Lance. His loud, hyperactive, sweet, beautiful boy.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Lance narrowed his eyes. One corner of his mouth twitched upward.

He knew. He had to. One couldn’t possibly be so perfect and simultaneously unaware of it.

Keith blinked and gave his head a firm shake. “Nothing. I just love you. A lot.”

Lance melted. His expression of anxiety grew into something better. Not quite happy, but certainly much softer.

“I love you, too.” Lance slid two hands from Keith’s shoulders to his wrists, holding them gently. “You’re too good to me.”

“I’m just good enough.” Keith swallowed. “Maybe sometimes not even good enough.”

“Oh, quit that–“

Keith kissed him, long and slow. Partially to halt any further protests that he didn’t actually deserve the entire universe, but mostly just to do it. Just because he could. And, besides, it would be a shame for lips so dutifully cared for in a strict skin care regime to go unkissed.

“Nice try,” Lance said a bit breathlessly when they pulled apart. “But I’m still right.”

Keith groaned. “It was worth a shot. Come on. I want to go take a nap.”

Lance tilted his head questioningly as he took Keith’s offered hand and began to walk.

“A nap at five P.M. on a Friday?” He asked. “Weird flex, but okay.”

“Yeah. Pidge wants us over later. Movie night. Is that okay?”

Some semblance of relief dawned on Lance’s face, just as Keith hoped it would.

Being childish alone was an easy and natural enough task for Lance – but being childish with his friends might as well transport him into another world. Weights always seemed to fall off his shoulders when he was around them, even if temporarily.

Which was why Keith had, in fact, been the one to text Pidge earlier that day and demand an impromptu hangout session, for Lance’s sake.

Not that his sub needed to know that.

Lance smiled and squeezed his hand. “Yeah. That sounds perfect.”


	9. cause i'm gonna make this place your home

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Keith, you coward!” Pidge yelled. She ducked behind her pillow fort as another helping of popcorn rained down on her. “That evil war machine is your sub! Stop this monstrosity!”
> 
> “No, thanks."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHH MY FRIENDS. here's the last chapter of act one!
> 
> expect to be introduced to act two tomorrow!! thank you all so much for all your comments and support on this sequel, i am SO damn excited to finally be posting it, you have no idea
> 
> please let me know your thoughts on this one! i have it on good authority that this fluff is fluffy enough to singlehandedly smother a man. enjoy!

The movie played, but Keith paid no mind. At that point, he couldn’t remember what they were watching in the first place.

Another piece of popcorn hit his ear.

“Score!” Pidge pumped her fists in the air – and was, herself, promptly bombarded by an entire fistful of popcorn.

“Why are you looking at me?” Lance blinked innocently when Pidge shot him a glare. “I’m just enjoying my deliciously nutritious puffed snack.”

Pidge seethed. “This means _war_ , loverboy.”

“Bring it on, Pigeon.”

“Oh, God.” Hunk groaned and slid down on the couch, pulling a decorative pillow over his face.

Keith smiled. There was a glimmer of mischief in Lance’s eyes as he propped several pillows up on the loveseat, effectively shielding them both from oncoming attacks.

Lance was having fun. It was fun Keith wasn’t very keen to engage in (and nor was Hunk, apparently). But that was alright. The view was a much more pleasant one than any movie could ever be.

On the coffee table, Pidge’s laptop sat open. An encoded message from Matt Holt was still on display. She’d excitedly interpreted it for the group earlier in the evening. It was simple enough; a brief greeting, followed by an assurance that the mission was going well and they all missed their respective families terribly.

Simple or not, it left three out of four of them sniffling and blinking back tears.

“Keith, you coward!” Pidge yelled. She ducked behind her pillow fort as another helping of popcorn rained down on her. “That evil war machine is _your_ sub! Stop this monstrosity!”

“No, thanks,” Keith said.

He reached to take a piece from Lance’s artillery. His hand was slapped away.

Lance gasped. “ _Babe!_ Don’t eat my ammo! This is war!”

“Yeah, babe,” Pidge said. “Don’t eat our ammo.”

Her grin peeked out from the side of her shield. She flung herself back under cover with a yelp when Lance launched another attack.

Keith sighed and lolled his head back on the couch. Hunk was in a similar position.

“You’re both children,” he said. “Very badly behaved children. I do hope you realize Hunk and I aren’t cleaning your mess.”

A hot blush spread over Lance’s cheekbones. Keith gave him a questioning look.

“I’m a bad boy?” Lance leaned into him, breathing the words against his ear. “And you want me to clean up my _own_ _mess_ , huh?”

Keith gulped.

“Lance.” Pidge groaned. “We can hear you. Keep it in your pants, horndog.”

Furious red spread to the tips of Lance’s ears. He flung another bunch of popcorn.

“Sh-shut up! My enemy can’t tell me who to fraternize with!”

“I’m looking out for you! Who fraternizes on the battlefield? You’re going to get yourself killed. Not to mention – _highly_ unprofessional.”

“Since when is war a profession?”

“Since I said so, bitch.”

“Oh – oh, fine! Fraternization is a profession, too. Suck on that.”

“Don’t worry.” Pidge raised a handful of ammo threateningly. “You will.”

Keith leaned back into the corner of the couch, letting the cushions embrace him. He winced each time a piece of popcorn strayed off-path and hit him. Or, he suspected, sometimes was levied toward him on purpose, just for the sake of riling Lance up.

“Leave my man out of this!” Lance shrieked at one point, and Keith’s heart swelled.

These immature games weren’t his thing, but that was alright. He was willing to put up with it, if it made Lance this happy.

Lance being happy – _that_ was Keith’s thing, undoubtedly.

“Katie Holt! I hope you’re planning on cleaning up that mess.”

“ _Shit_. Sorry, Mom, I will!”

“Watch your language, young lady.”

Pidge winced. “Yes, Mom.”

“Yeah, _Katie_.” Lance waggled his eyebrows. “Clean up your mess and forfeit.”

Pidge’s eyes flashed. Hunk squealed, peeking over the edge of his pillow to watch the exchange with wide eyes.

Keith sighed and patted Lance’s shoulder in mock-pity. “I can’t save you from this one, sweetheart.”

Lance whimpered. “Oh, dear Lord, help me.”

Pidge lifted the entire bowl of crushed popcorn she’d collected overhead. “You’re gonna _need_ God on your side, Lance McClain!”

“I’m sorry! I take it back, you’re not Katie, you’re not Katie! _Ah!_ ”

 

* * *

 

Lance sulked, arms crossed over his chest, as Keith picked bits of soggy popcorn from his hair in the shower.

“Not a word, Keith Kogane,” he said when the corners of Keith’s mouth began to twitch.

“I wasn’t going to say anything.”

“Good.”

“But you really should know better than to call her Katie–“

“ _Keith!_ ”


	10. [II] far from home on a road unknown

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Veronica shook her head. “You’ll always belong with us. You’re part of the family. Going away for a while doesn’t change that.”
> 
> Lance ground his teeth together.
> 
> “Maybe I don’t want to be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here is the first chapter of act two! enjoy!!

**ACT TWO: LONG FORGOTTEN SONS**

**(chapters 10-30)**

* * *

  

["Long Forgotten Sons" - Rise Against](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yTHc-YghhSY)

 

* * *

 

"Sadly, no one in our family ever said, 'I love you.' The truth is, I think we were all frightened of saying it, since the obvious answer would have been, 'Well, if this is love, what is hate like?'" - Louie Anderson

 

* * *

 

Conversations between his fellow patrons buzzed like flies in his ears. The bustle of machinery and employees, which had never bothered him before, grated on his nerves. Lance tightened his fingers around a paper cup, soothed by the heat that seeped through to his palm. Veronica stared at the table with crossed arms.

He wracked his brain for something to say, but words evaded him. Was he supposed to forgive her secrecy? Ask for details on their father’s condition? What exactly was she looking for?

“Thanks for coming out here,” Lance said. It seemed like a good place to start.

Veronica offered a terse smile. “It’s not like I was far away.”

“You know what I meant. Thank you for-”

“I know. For not making you come see him.”

Lance winced. “To be fair, you couldn’t have _made_ me. I would have said no.”

They lapsed back into silence, and Lance gave himself a harsh mental slap. That definitely wasn’t the right thing to say, if the mildly offended look on her face was any indication. He was being rude.

But he wasn’t wrong. Nobody could _make_ him do anything. He was determined, after all he’d been through, to never let them. Her implication that she could brought about a resurgence of old, ugly emotions Lance would much prefer to keep buried.

It was a good few minutes before he dared open his mouth again.

“I’m not ready to see everyone,” he said. “It’s been a weird year, and I just...don’t really feel like I belong there anymore.”

Veronica shook her head. “You’ll always belong with us. You’re part of the family. Going away for a while doesn’t change that.”

Lance ground his teeth together.

“Maybe I don’t want to be.”

Her arms fell uncrossed. A shadow of hurt passed over her face, leaving a mask of stoicism in its wake. Lance felt a pang of guilt, but it lasted a fleeting few seconds.

The truth hurt sometimes. That was hardly his fault.

“You don’t want to be part of the family?” She asked.

Lance leaned across the table and captured his sister’s eyes. “With _him_ at the helm? No. I don’t want to be on that boat when it goes down. And I’m not going to apologize for that.”

“So it’s not _us_ you don’t want. It’s him.”

“Yes. No? Maybe. God, I don’t know!”

Lance slapped palms to his temples. Fingers tugged harshly at his hair.

He couldn’t tell whether or not Alexander was his sole reason not to return home. Maybe his father tainted the idea, turning sour the once sweet prospect of visiting his mother and siblings.

Or maybe his siblings’ lack of interest in his life as of late made him angry. Maybe it wasn’t all about Alexander. Maybe their names were starting to leave a bitter taste in his mouth, too.

Veronica’s eyes glistened.

“You’re part of the reason I came along, you know,” she said. “I finished my degree a week before you graduated. I was supposed to find a job. And Rachel is taking an entire year off from school.”

“Don’t pretend you’re doing all of that for me.”

“Of course that’s not the only reason. But it’s a big one.”

Lance studied her face with wary eyes. She sounded sincere enough, and there was no trace of a lie in her expression. It still seemed unlikely.

“You ignored me,” he said. “And not just with the invite. We didn’t talk the entire school year. If you care so much, why wait until now to show it?”

Veronica closed her eyes. The deep breath she took was audible over customers chatting and baristas shouting orders.

“I thought you were trying to get away. I didn’t want you to feel like I was dragging you back.”

“Isn’t that what you’re doing now? Showing up out of nowhere to dump all this on me?”

“ _No_ , Lance. You deserve to know. And you deserve to be told, not to find out when you inevitably bump into one of us in the grocery store.”

Lance laughed, unable to contain the bitter amusement that rushed up his throat. “Oh, please. Like we’ve _ever_ done our own grocery shopping.”

Her jaw clenched. “You know what I mean.”

Lance did.

“So why now?” He asked. “You said he didn’t want me to know. That hasn’t changed. Why wait six months?”

“Like I said – you shouldn’t have to find out the hard way. And with us being so nearby...”

“Yeah. Inevitable. I get it.”

Veronica tapped a finger against her cup as she raised it to her mouth. Across the room, two old friends bumped into one another. They exchanged pleasant exclamations and a hug.

Lance didn’t want to be there.

He didn’t want to sit at his and Keith’s table, in _their_ favorite on-campus coffee shop, listening to his sister’s excuses dispersed between stretches of painful silence. She was a poor placeholder for Keith’s easy banter and soft laughs.

“I’m not saying you should come to the new house.” Veronica took the last swig of her coffee. His own cup sat untouched. “Not yet, at least. If you’re not ready-”

“I’ll never be ready to see him. Time won’t change that.”

She swallowed. When she nodded, it was slow and strained.

“I miss you, Lance. I want to be in your life.” Her fingers twitched as if in temptation to reach for him. “I can’t speak for anyone else. All I’m asking for is a chance. Will you at least think about it?”

It was an innocent enough request, for him to just _consider_ allowing her presence in his life. What kind of brother would he be to deny her that?

“Sure. Yeah, I’ll think about it.”

An easy, relaxed grin spread across her face. Lance offered a weary smile in return.

He could think about it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> friendly reminder that you can find me on tumblr as langst-wins! i've been making a lot of moodboards for this series lately, go check them out!


	11. where the vultures circle on winds that blow

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That crack, etched into the concrete by time and wear, contained memories too big to fit into words. Images, sounds, and sensations soaked through his shoes and into his skin.

The lake was emptier than he thought it would be.

His shoes scuffed against the concrete. Save for a lone woman on a mountain bike, nobody passed him. Lance wished there were more people around. He realized, with a burning sense of shame, that the lack of crowd made it difficult to find _their_ spot.

That was horrible, wasn’t it? He shouldn’t need speed-walkers brushing his shoulder to find that crack in the sidewalk where Keith first kissed and later claimed him. The entire world had melted away in those moments. Why should he need the world’s help to get back there?

He did find it, eventually. Lance spent far longer searching than he probably should have, but he found it. That crack, etched into the concrete by time and wear, contained memories too big to fit into words. Images, sounds, and sensations soaked through his shoes and into his skin.

Lance sat, knees drawn to his chest, and stared at the spot as if waiting for it to impart some token of wisdom. Of course, it didn’t. It couldn’t. It was nothing more than an imperfection in a walking path. The significance attached to it was all his own.

Keith always said Lance had a penchant for the childish and dramatic. He wasn’t wrong.

_Keith._

Lance pulled out his phone, heart racing. He prayed there wouldn’t be a missed call or text from his Dom. The familiar guilt that followed rule-breaking loomed above his head like a threat.

There was no notification. Lance puffed out his cheeks, exhaling in relief.

> _You: hey babe, forgot to tell u, went to lake after seeing V. still there. sorry i didn’t ask :(_

He hit send. The reply was immediate.

> _Sir <3: That’s fine, sweetheart. Please be careful._

Lance looked at the crack in the walkway and swallowed around a lump in his throat.

> _You: coming home early actually. miss you </3_
> 
> _Sir <3: Lol. After an hour? I’m flattered._

His talk with Veronica had completely drained him. Lance’s only source of refill for emotional energy was back at the dorm, studying, dropping his task the instant a text from his sub came through.

Lance stood and dusted off his jeans. The lake was beautiful as ever, but he wasn’t in the mood for reminiscing on old memories.

He wanted to make some new ones.


	12. from northern skies that haunt these waking moments

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance settled in his lap, knees straddling either side of his waist. Two soft hands held the back of Keith’s neck. Fingers spread out to intertwine with his hair.
> 
> “Whoa,” Keith said against his sub’s lips between kisses. “Not that I’m complaining, but – what the hell?”

The door clicked open, and Keith looked up with a smile – only to have said smile promptly kissed off his face.

Lance settled in his lap, knees straddling either side of his waist. Two soft hands held the back of Keith’s neck. Fingers spread out to intertwine with his hair.

“Whoa,” Keith said against his sub’s lips between kisses. “Not that I’m complaining, but – what the hell?”

Lance grinned into his mouth. “No reason. Just remembered how much I love you.”

Keith took a leaf from the other’s book and tried out an exaggerated pout. “Just remembered? Does that mean you forgot?”

“ _Never._ Shut up. You know better, Keith Kogane.”

“Mm, do I?”

“Too much talking.” Lance shoved the notepad pressed between them to the floor without so much as a glance. To his own surprise, Keith had no complaints. “Please kiss me, Sir.”

Keith groaned. “Did you think you had to ask?”

Innocent kisses transformed to desperate clashes of teeth. Keith held Lance’s hips in a bruising grip, and Lance surrendered a strangled moan into the kiss. After a moment, the sub placed hands on his shoulders and pushed him back.

“Can I sit at your feet?”

Keith blinked. That felt like a regression from making out, not the typical progression into some less clothed activities. But Lance was earnest, eyes wide and hopeful, so he nodded.

“Of course you can, sweetheart.”

Lance offered a shy smile and clambered off his lap. He settled on the floor with his legs folded beneath him and nuzzled into Keith’s knees. Keith carded a firm hand through his hair.

Lance purred. “Thank you, Sir.”

There wasn’t enough room in Keith’s heart for all this love. There really wasn’t. It poured into the rest of his body, coursing through his veins.

“You’re welcome, baby.”

Lance wasn’t done, though. Keith was soon informed, without any need for words, that having his sub at his feet _was_ a progression from making out. Lance moved Keith’s knees apart and mouthed at the front of his jeans.

“May I, please?” The request was accompanied by a tilted head and batted eyelashes. Gestures Lance jokingly referred to as _Keith bait_ when he thought his Dom wasn’t listening.

Keith could bait, too.

“Oh, I don’t know. Having me in your mouth is a _treat_. What do you think you’ve done to deserve that?”

Lance’s eyes grew comically wide. “I haven’t broken any rules! You already spanked me for swearing! Sir, _please?_ ”

Keith laughed. The shock melted from Lance’s expression, replaced by a narrow-eyed glare.

“Oh, my God. You should have seen your face.”

“That was _so_ not funny.”

“That was _extremely_ funny.”

His teasing was promptly cut short when Lance raised a hand to his crotch and rubbed, firm and skilled. Keith moaned and let his head fall back.

“Is it still funny?” Lance whispered, and swept his tongue over his own lips.

“Yes,” Keith said.

Sure, he wanted that beautiful mouth wrapped around him. But he also happened to be the most stubborn fucker on the planet (Shiro excluded, since he was actually _not_ on the planet). Keith would be six feet under before he ever admitted defeat in one of his and Lance’s playful bickers.

Lance sighed and rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky I _want_ to blow you.”

“Oh, I know I am.”

Keith lifted his hips from the bungee chair he’d been reclining in when Lance reached for his waistband, helping pull jeans and boxers down to his knees.

“God, you’re perfect.” Lance drank in the sight of his Dom’s half-hard cock like a Renaissance painting, though Keith hardly thought it called for such admiration.

“That’s actually not my name, but I’ll take it.”

“Oh, shut up.”

“Make me.”

Lance did, in fact, make him. Wet heat engulfed his length, and Keith was suddenly far too busy making some other sounds for words to be a thing.

He whimpered and panted through pursed lips, unable to stop himself from thrusting into the perfection that was his sub’s mouth. When he looked down, Lance was watching him with rapt attention.

“Gonna make you feel so good when you’re done, sweet boy.” Keith tugged at Lance’s hair and reveled in the pleased hum released around his cock. “What do you want, beautiful?”

Lance pulled off with visible hesitation. He pressed a kiss to the tip before responding. “Can you blow me, too, Sir?”

“Anything you want.”

Lance offered him a smile that was absurdly innocent for the deed those lips engaged in. “Thank you, Sir.”

“Of course. Finish me off, baby, okay?”

Lance was eager to earn his reward and it showed. He hallowed his cheeks around Keith’s length and bobbed his head with newfound enthusiasm. The sensation was enhanced by vibrations that stemmed from exaggerated, pornesque moans. Lance hurried the process along, and when Keith finally spilled his release with a strangled cry, he milked every last drop.

Keith couldn’t even complain about being rushed to the finish line. It was damn near impossible to complain about anything when his gorgeous mate pleasured him.

“Good boy.” He practically cooed the words. Lance melted at the praise, leaning into Keith’s trembling legs. “What a good boy, serving me. You want your reward, sweetheart?”

Lanced moaned – a real one this time – and pressed a kiss to Keith’s exposed thigh. “Yes, please. Thank you, Sir.”

“Get undressed and go lie down on the bed.”

Lance scrambled to obey. Keith watched with a fond smile. He allowed himself one more moment to enjoy the bliss that rested in heavy limbs before going to give his boy a reward he’d very much earned.

Keith would never understand how and when he’d gotten so damn lucky. He certainly didn’t deserve the masterpiece of a human being that was Lance McClain.

But he’d never questioned it before and, by God, he wasn’t about to start.


	13. on shadows cast by the mountain range

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He could throw himself into other things when he was in class or with Keith. He could dive headfirst into denial and pretend things were okay, that it was all fine and dandy.
> 
> It was another thing entirely to look reality dead in the eye and ask the truth to lie to him.

He saw the picture when she opened her wallet to pay for lunch.

Luis, a blinding smile on his face, with an arm wrapped tight around the shoulders of an equally joyous Lisa. Nadia and Sylvio stood in front of their parents, wearing the false smiles of children who were told to ‘say cheese.’

They looked happy. They _were_ happy. They always had been such a perfect little family.

Lance blinked back an impending mist. Veronica flashed an impatient smile as she handed the server her card.

“Anyways,” she said. “Papi was on chemo for a while, but it’s not like it was helping anything, so-”

Something like panic – a fear of the unknown, perhaps – bubbled up his throat. “ _Whoa._ I – I didn’t ask. I don’t want all the... _medical_ details.”

Veronica blinked and tilted her head, frowning. “Why?”

Lance knew it was stupid. He could throw himself into other things when he was in class or with Keith. He could dive headfirst into denial and pretend things were okay, that it was all fine and dandy.

It was another thing entirely to look reality dead in the eye and ask the truth to lie to him. Or, in this case, to lie by omission, withholding large chunks of itself for his own comfort. It would not. It _could_ not. Truth didn’t know how to beat around the bush.

But Lance still wanted to pretend (for as long as he could, at least.) He wanted to shield himself from the more nitty-gritty fun facts until he couldn’t anymore. The situation felt marginally more comfortable that way.

Veronica looked at him, one eyebrow raised, expectant. Lance shifted in his seat.

“I don’t think I can hear all of that yet,” he said. “Makes it too real.”

“It is real, Lance. This is happening.”

 _Obviously_. “I know. But you’ve been living with it for a while now. You have to remember that I haven’t.”

The barest flicker of guilt crossed her face. It was chased out by a forced indifference.

“Sorry,” she said. “I guess I didn’t think about that.”

How she could continue to drop informational bombshells on him and simply _not think_ about the impact they had, he would never understand.

“It’s fine,” he lied. “I get it.”

And just like before, they lapsed into silence. They did that a lot. It was nothing like the peaceful silence Lance often enjoyed with Keith.

With Keith, silence was easy and comfortable. Lance didn’t have to say a word to be completely understood.

With Veronica, he simply had nothing to say.

Lance waited a long moment, considering, before he finally asked: “How’s Luis doing? Marco, too. It’s...it’s been a while. How is everyone?”

Veronica looked up, surprised. She clearly hadn’t expected him to reignite the conversation.

“Fine. Yeah, everyone’s fine.” She paused. “Actually, neither of them have been around much. Not even before the move. I think they just don’t know how to react.”

She gave him an odd look. It was difficult to read, but Lance got the general gist of it. _They don’t know how to react, so they’re avoiding him – just like you._

Was she wrong?

“Yeah,” he said. “I can see that.”

The subtext – _I feel that_ – went unspoken. But Veronica pursed her lips, and Lance knew that, for once, she heard his silence loud and clear.

“I have a question,” she said. “Entirely unrelated, but I’m curious.”

Lance shrugged. “Go for it.”

“How did you and Keith meet?”


	14. on calloused soles, we find our way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He knew. It didn’t matter if the man was sick, dying, in pain – Alexander knew. 
> 
> He knew something terrible had happened to his child, and he brushed it off as easily as some lint from his shoulder.

Hot blood turned to ice in his veins, and his hands shook. Lance swallowed thickly.

“He didn’t tell you.” To his own ears, he sounded as numb as he suddenly felt. “He really didn’t tell you guys.”

Veronica frowned, eyebrows furrowed, clearly baffled.

“What? Of course he didn’t. I’ve barely spoken to your Dom. When would he have told me your cutesy love story?”

“No, I didn’t – not Keith. I meant...”

“You meant _who_? Who didn’t tell me what?”

Of course, Lance knew his father thought little to nothing of the call he received from a Galaxy Garrison nurse that day. He knew all along. Shiro had sat by his bedside, and the look on his face when Lance made an educated guess at his father’s reaction spoke volumes. The sorrow Shiro wore confirmed Alexander’s callous disinterest in any kind of suffering that was not his own.

But to not tell the rest of the family the horrific truth – to not even mention it in _passing_...

It gave Lance a whole new perspective on  what his father truly thought of subs. Where he believed people like Lance belonged. And it wasn’t a pretty perspective. It was a very,  _very_ ugly one, indeed. 

That disappointed Lance. By the same thread, it far from surprised him.

“Nobody,” he said. Veronica glared, narrow-eyed, calculating. He responded with a firm shake of his head. “Forget I said anything. It doesn’t matter.”

She hesitated. Beneath the table, her leg bounced. “Are you sure?”

He knew. It didn’t matter if the man was sick, dying, in pain – Alexander _knew_. 

He knew something terrible had happened to his child, and he brushed it off as easily as some lint from his shoulder. He withheld the news from others – probably, Lance realized with a pang, out of embarrassment. He’d made it abundantly clear that he saw Lance’s experience not as a trauma, but as him failing to ‘keep his legs closed.’

Of course he didn’t tell the rest of the family.  God forbid anyone  find out his child was a slut.

“Yeah,” Lance said. “It’s not important. I’m sure.”


	15. through desperate eyes, we long for the horizon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Four, seven, eight. Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. Lance didn’t bother blinking them away; there was no need. Keith wouldn’t judge him for his emotional reactions, nor equate them to his subhood the way others might. Keith had never seen – never would see – Lance as helpless or weak. Here, he was safe to cry.

“What are you thinking about?”

Lips pressed to his neck in an attempt to soothe. Lance sighed. He leaned back against his Dom’s chest, sequestering himself to the embrace.

“Nothing,” he said. “It’s not important.”

“Bullshit. Anything you’re worried about is important.”

“Who says I’m worried?”

Keith made an exasperated noise. Lance didn’t need to see his face to know he wore his patented _are you shitting me?_ look.

“The fact that I’m not fucking stupid says you’re worried. I know you, Lance. I know what it looks like when you’ve been thinking too much.”

Lance nuzzled his nose into the crook of Keith’s neck. He placed his hands over the two paler ones resting on his stomach. Despite the firm words, Keith’s mouth was sweet and kind. It etched love into Lance’s neck, his jaw, the crown of his head. Two notepads open to half-written essays lay forgotten on the mattress.

“Veronica.” Lance’s shoulders slumped. Keith hummed, both in acknowledgment and in triumph over the concession. “Something she said at lunch today.”

“Mmhm...and what did she say?”

 _Four, seven, eight._ Tears gathered in the corners of his eyes. Lance didn’t bother blinking them away; there was no need. Keith wouldn’t judge him for his emotional reactions, nor equate them to his subhood the way others might. Keith had never seen – never _would_ see – Lance as helpless or weak. Here, he was safe to cry.

“She asked how we met,” Lance said. Keith stiffened behind him, lips pausing midway through a kiss to the side of his neck. “Yeah. I know.”

“That’s...what the _fuck_?”

“ _Yeah_. I know.”

Tears slipped unbidden down his face. Lance released a humorless chuckle and sniffled as he wiped them away.

“Please don’t cry,” Keith whispered. “You’re safe. Everything’s okay now.”

“No, it’s – I know. I know.” Lance exhaled shakily. “It’s just that it _wasn’t_ , back then, and he never cared. He didn’t even think it was important enough to tell the rest of the family.”

“I’m sorry to burst your bubble, baby boy, but your dad’s an actual piece of shit.”

“Oh, believe me, I know.”

And there it was. That peaceful, calm silence where they could exchange vague thoughts and feelings through fingertips, mouths used only to kiss and sigh. The kind of silence Lance didn’t mind. The kind he enjoyed. The good kind.

Lance allowed himself to sink into the moment even as he sank into his mate’s embrace. His eyelids fluttered for a few moments before he spoke again.

“We never said ‘I love you.’”

Keith paused. “Huh?”

“My family,” Lance clarified. “We never said we loved each other. I can’t remember one time I heard it. Not even from Veronica...not even from me.”

“You’re wrong.”

Lance shifted around in Keith’s arms to look at him, puzzled. “What do you mean?”

Keith had a small smile on his face, like he knew something his sub didn’t. It wasn’t exactly the vow of solemn support Lance hoped for.

“I’m your family, too.” Keith shrugged. “I say ‘I love you’ all the time. There, see? I just said it again.”

Lance couldn’t help but laugh. He turned fully, then, removing Keith’s arms from around his torso so they could sit face to face, and pulled the other in for a deep kiss. Keith responded in fervor, tongue seeking a familiar taste.

“I love you, too,” Lance said against his lips when they parted. He traced light fingers down Keith’s neck. “You’re _so_ sweet. How did I get this lucky?”

“I know I say this, like, five times a day, but I’m pretty sure I’m the lucky one here.”

Lance attached their two faint smiles together with a murmured, “ _Sh_ _ut up_ ,” then pulled Keith in for another clash of tongue and teeth.

He had no choice but to admit defeat.

His family did say ‘I love you,’ after all.


	16. while this sun is rising

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For someone so dead-set on not getting reattached to his dysfunctional family, he sure was doing a spectacular job of getting reattached to his dysfunctional family.

Lance winced when the text came through.

> _Veronica: can rach come along? she misses u._

He spared a glance at his Astrophysics Prof. Her attention was settled elsewhere. Lance thanked his lucky stars for back-row seats and ignored a glare from the girl beside him as he tapped out a reply beneath the table.

> _You: sure. when?_

For someone so dead-set on not getting reattached to his dysfunctional family, he sure was doing a spectacular job of getting reattached to his dysfunctional family.

 

* * *

 

Lance spotted her before Veronica. Her head of voluminous hair was easy to find among the crowd. His heart jumped into his throat.

It hadn’t been that long since he’d last seen her; only a little over a year. But for everything that had happened to him in that time, for all the ways he’d changed and grown, that year may as well have been ten. Childhood felt like a different lifetime entirely.

The mall was crowded, and foot traffic was slow. Lance approached with careful steps. “H-hey.”

Rachel whirled around. Her hair flew around her shoulders like a weapon, threatening to take out innocent passerby.

“ _Lance_.”

She practically lunged at him. Lance coughed as the breath was knocked from his lungs. He’d forgotten what a hugger she was. He’d forgotten the way she always seemed to carry the faint scent of strawberries. He’d forgotten a lot of things.

He wrapped his arms around her shoulders, and she sniffled into his chest. It was all too reminiscent of the great graduation day fiasco, only with a different sister (and, thankfully, lacking that jaw-drop shock.)

Lance felt the corners of his mouth tugging upward, not quite against his will. “Hey, Rach.”

He really had missed her.


	17. when cries for help go unanswered

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Free the modern slave!” The girl said, mouth twisted with a snarl and eyes ablaze. “Subs around the world are held in sex trafficking rings. Hundreds of thousands more are at risk. Stand up to injustice!”
> 
> Lance blinked.

It wasn’t unusual to see protests hosted on the campus of the University of Arizona for the Astrosciences.

There were a lot of young adults and older teenagers around. Intelligent youth – because you _had_ to be smart to attend a place like U.A.A – who all had their own passions and causes tugging at their hearts. Protests were inevitable. Usually, Lance didn’t mind them, so long as they didn’t grow violent or otherwise out of hand.

Protests for sub rights in particular always warmed his heart. Lance liked to see he wasn’t the only one so passionately enraged by the injustices he and other victims faced. He felt vindicated that other people saw and despised the crimes committed against him. He especially liked when kind Doms like Keith got involved to support sub causes – not because it benefited them in any way, but just because it was the right thing to do.

What Lance did _not_ like was having one of said Doms shove a physical paper flier beneath his nose with unnecessary force. _How ironic._

“Free the modern slave!” The girl said, mouth twisted with a snarl and eyes ablaze. “Subs around the world are held in sex trafficking rings. Hundreds of thousands more are at risk. Stand up to injustice!”

Lance blinked.

It wasn’t that he didn’t understand her message. He did, and he wholeheartedly agreed with it, but – _really?_ She sounded like something out of a bad indie film. Maybe not the best way to garner genuine interest in her protest. He was a little tempted to accept the old-fashioned flier just to appease her.

The charity boasted on the paper did look interesting, though, dramatics aside. Lance gave her a wary, sidelong look as he pinched it between two fingers.

“What is this?” He took the flier from her grasp.

The girl rolled her eyes. When she spoke, her teeth snapped like that of a piranha.

It took Lance exactly one point five seconds to decide he didn’t like her very much.

“I just _told_ you what it is,” she said. “Human trafficking is a disgusting practice, and ninety-seven percent of young people trafficked are subs. They’re sold into prostitution against their wills. I don’t know about you, but _I_ have a problem with that.”

Lance handed the flier back.

Of course he had a problem with that. If this girl knew him, knew his story, she wouldn’t question him for a second.

This just hit a little too close to home. Sent panic bubbling up his throat and made his lungs tighten. He felt awful denying her cause, but Lance couldn’t quite bring himself to participate.

Difficult as it was sometimes, he’d learned the hard way that his own mental wellness had to come first. He would be of no use to _anyone_ if he put himself out of commission by relapsing.

“I’m sorry.” Lance winced. His voice sounded suspiciously thick. He hoped she couldn’t tell. “I really can’t help.”

The girl didn’t take back her flier when he offered it. At once, her eyes narrowed, and all her internal anger at the injustice of the world seemed to laser-focus on him.

“You _can_.” Her voice was dangerously low. “You just don’t want to. Don’t kid yourself.”

“Look – I don’t have time to stand here and explain my life to you, and I shouldn’t have to. You don’t even _know_ me.”

She crossed her arms and smirked, triumphant, as if she’d coaxed an ugly confession from his lips. “Exactly what I thought you’d say. That’s what they _all_ say.”

Lance inhaled through clenched teeth. “Okay. I have to get to class.”

He only got a few steps away before the girl called after him.

“I guess you’re also too busy to sign our petition! A known rapist is wandering the campus freely – but who cares, right?”

Lance stopped dead in his tracks. His throat felt tight. He turned back toward her.

God, if she only _knew._

“Where do I sign?”

She flashed a sharp smile, piranha teeth and all.

“ _That’s_ the spirit.”


	18. and signal fires just burn and burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Alexander,” he said. “I kind of, maybe – want to see him? Maybe.”

Lance dropped the notepad onto the bed with a sigh and buried his face in his hands. Fingers tugged at his hair, as if they could somehow pull every negative thought out of his brain.

It would be nice if they could. He really did need to focus.

This seemed to be the theme of his week: attempt to do important things that must be done. Get distracted by the tsunami of emotions warring for his attention. Run to Keith for comfort like a helpless wuss.

Lance blamed Alexander. Maybe that was childish or unfair, but he couldn’t help it. If that asshole hadn’t grown a brain tumor, Lance might not have to feel so terrible.

...okay. He was _definitely_ being childish and unfair.

But still.

“Lance...” Keith dropped his own work with exaggerated finality. “We need to finish these essays, and _you_ need to stop living in your head. Will you please just talk to me?”

“There’s too much to talk about. I don’t even know where to start.”

Lance didn’t notice his own grip on his hair growing painful until Keith gently pried his fingers away.

“One thing at a time.” Keith placed Lance’s hands on his waistline and drew their bodies closer. “First thing. Don’t think about it. Just talk.”

“There’s this petition going around campus-”

Keith’s face darkened instantly, and Lance cut his own sentence short. He laid his head on Keith’s chest in an attempt to soothe and be soothed.

“I know,” Keith said. “Did you sign it, too?”

“Of course.”

Keith released a shaky breath over the crown of Lance’s head, then pressed a kiss there. “Makes me nervous. Makes me worry about you.”

Lance shivered.

He knew Keith only shared such blatant truths in the name of honesty. He knew honesty was fundamental to their functioning as a mated couple. But the idea of having a ninth assault added to his name was, quite frankly, the stuff of nightmares. It chilled him to the bone. He tightened his fingers in Keith’s shirt, white-knuckled.

“Please don’t say that,” Lance whispered. “Gonna make me panic.”

“ _Shh_. I’m sorry, baby boy. Please don’t panic. You know I’ll keep you safe.”

“Can you walk me to class tomorrow?” He buried his face in Keith’s shoulder to hide a blush. It was a stupid request. “I know I’ve been fine on campus so far, but...”

Keith didn’t seem to think it was so stupid. He rubbed Lance’s back, firm and grounding. “Of course, sweetheart. Whatever you need. I just want you to feel safe.”

“I do, when I’m with you. You know that, right?”

“Of course I know.” Keith spoke with an air of confidence, but his voice wavered and gave him away. He cleared his throat. “What’s the next thing? Next thought. Just talk.”

Lance squirmed nervously in his Dom’s arms. Keith responded by holding him tighter.

“Alexander,” he said. “I kind of, maybe – want to see him? _Maybe_.”

Keith stiffened. “Why?”

“I don’t know. Closure, I guess? Maybe we could patch things up or something, before – _you know_.”

“Yeah. I know. But you already know what I’m going to say.”

“My life. My choice. Blah, blah, blah.”

Keith was silent for a long moment. Too long. Lance leaned back a little, tilting his head up to see the other’s lips pursed.

“Actually,” Keith said, “I was going to say it’s a shitty idea and I hate it. But that, too. Your choice.”

“Babe. You can’t give me a ‘choice’ and expect me to even _consider_ the option you openly hate.”

“No, Lance. Don’t do that.” Keith met his eyes and held them, his gaze dark and serious. “There are a lot of things I can choose for you. This isn’t one of them. Don’t let my gross emotions get all over your logic.”

It was a solid piece of advice. Keith’s feelings were like glitter in the sense that Lance often found them lingering around his head, overstaying their welcome and decorating decisions they were never meant to touch.

Lance nodded. He offered a strained smile, which Keith made his best attempt to return.

“Alright. I’ll just...keep thinking about it.”

Keith pressed a kiss to his forehead and brushed stray hairs from his face. “There we go. Good boy, Lance.”

That particular utterance of praise never failed to send sparks tingling down his spine. Lance curled closer, purring into Keith’s shirt.

Sure, they had papers to write, and he had a hell of a lot to think about.

But in that moment? Cuddles definitely took priority.


	19. we'll wonder if we're waiting here for nothing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Her squeal started only seconds before the footsteps did. Pidge came flying down the stairs, laptop in hand, emitting a noise loud and high-pitched enough to rival that of a fire alarm.
> 
> “Another message! Message! Matt sent a message!”

Her squeal started only seconds before the footsteps did. Pidge came flying down the stairs, laptop in hand, emitting a noise loud and high-pitched enough to rival that of a fire alarm.

Lance threw his hands over his ears. He thought, bitterly, how damn lucky they all were that Colleen Holt just so happened to not be home. Beside him, Keith winced.

“Another message! Message! Matt sent a message!”

All of Lance’s annoyance faded in an instant. Bubbling excitement took its place. Very rarely did Matt correspond to his sister without letting Shiro join in on the fun.

“Do you always take your laptop with you when you pee?” Hunk asked casually from where he reclined on the couch.

Pidge blinked. “You don’t?”

“ _Shh_!” Lance threw a pillow. It hit Hunk square in the face with a soft _thump_. “Not important! What’s the message?!”

Hunk removed the pillow from his face. He made an offended sort of noise and tossed it back toward the couple on the loveseat. Keith caught it with a sigh.

“I apologize for my sub’s behavior,” Keith said, brimming with sarcasm. “I swear, he’s much nicer at home.”

But Lance saw the light dancing in his lover’s eyes, felt his rapidly bouncing leg shake the small sofa, and he knew Keith got just as excited over these messages as he and Pidge did. Maybe even more excited than Lance himself. Of course, Lance loved and looked up to Shiro – but he was Keith’s _father._

Keith was simply more reserved than they were. Much more chill than most Doms his age. Lance’s heart squeezed pleasantly at the reminder. To him, it was just another unique aspect of his mate’s personality to cherish.

“Ooh...” Pidge glanced between Keith and Lance with wide eyes. “This one’s just from Shiro.”

If Lance wasn’t trembling with anticipation before, he definitely was at those words. Pidge looked mildly disappointed that her own family hadn’t sent anything, and, yeah, Lance felt for her – but, God, he _missed_ Shiro. So damn much.

“ _Well_? What’s it say?” He asked impatiently. A fingernail flew to his mouth and he began to gnaw on it. Keith automatically pulled his hand away, holding it to help keep his sub’s nails intact.

Pidge’s fingers flew over the keyboard one more time. She gave them the softest smile Lance had ever seen her wear.

“Matt said Shiro just wanted him to tell Adam and the boys how much he loves and misses them, and that he can’t wait to come home.” Her lips twisted further upwards. The faint smile became a smirk. “Matt also added that the three of you should start a family band, because ‘Adam and the Boys’ sounds dope. He stans.”

Lance laughed, watery and light. He sniffled into Keith’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Pidge,” Keith said sincerely, his own small smile breaking through.

“No problem, ‘The Boys.’”

Lance groaned. “That’s going to stick, isn’t it?”

“Naturally.”


	20. cause our lips are sewn, our ears are filled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I really miss him.” Lance blinked a few times and sighed. His molars ground together. “I just – miss him.”
> 
> Adam raised his soda can in a cheers motion. “Preaching to the choir there, son.”

“I really miss him.” Lance blinked a few times and sighed. His molars ground together. “I just – _miss_ him.”

Adam raised his soda can in a _cheers_ motion. “Preaching to the choir there, son.”

“ _Oh_.” Lance winced. “I’m so sorry, Adam. I didn’t think…”

He really could be selfish sometimes, couldn’t he? Stupid. He had to learn to think before he opened his mouth. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._

Adam must have sensed the self-deprecating ways of old resurfacing in his thoughts. Some sort of Dad Instinct, maybe. He shot Lance the same heatless glare Keith did in such situations, and it suddenly struck Lance _where_ Keith had learned that look. He must have been on the receiving end of it for years.

“Don’t be sorry,” Adam said. “Shiro is important to you boys, too; we’re a family. You’re allowed to miss him.”

 _Family._ That word lurked constantly in the back of his mind, an unwelcome reminder of the decision he’d yet to make. It sucked how many things reminded him of Alexander, and how frequently they cropped up. It drained his emotional energy. He didn’t have much of that energy to spare in the first place. A good portion of it went toward maintaining his precarious mental health. 

“I know,” Lance said. “But I can’t _imagine_ Keith being gone so long. Have I asked yet how you’re holding up? I haven’t, have I? Wow. That’s rude. Sorry. How’re you holding up?”

Adam smiled, full-fledged and toothy. His expression leaked fondness that he showed no interest in hiding. Lance returned the grin. Some of the weight fell off his shoulders. 

“I’m fine, Lance.” Adam chuckled. “And you? Have you spoken with your sister again?”

“Yeah, a few times. And the other sister, too.”

“The other one? How many siblings do you have?”

“Four. Two sisters, two brothers.” Lance laughed when Adam released a low whistle. “What? That’s nothing! McClains breed like rabbits, man!”

“Son, you’re talking to an only child who mated an only child and raised an only child. Five kids? I’d go grey-haired from stress by age thirty.”

“Maybe that’s why he’s such a dick.”

Adam’s smile faded. Intrusive thoughts bombarded Lance at once.

_Why did you say that? You made things awkward. You’re supposed to be having fun. Stop ruining it. You ruin everything, don’t you?_

Lance gave his head a firm shake. Such thoughts only bothered him nowadays when he went through a particularly stressful time. He’d become well-versed in the art of beating them back with a stick. 

_No, I don’t. My dad’s a dick, and he’s dying, and I’m having a really tough time. I’m allowed to be a downer this week. Adam doesn’t mind. Adam understands. Adam loves me._

As if in confirmation, the man reached to place a hand on Lance’s knee and gave it a reassuring squeeze.

“I’m here for you, son, no matter what.” Adam held his gaze. He kept his voice quiet and firm. “Alright? Please don’t forget that.”

“I won’t.” Lance breathed deep. The inhale stuttered. He reveled in the fatherly love so willingly offered. He hadn’t felt as much from Alexander since he was five. “Trust me, I won’t.”

“Good.”

His Dom chose that moment to bustle in with bags of groceries weighing on his arms. He grumbled something about _two trips, my ass._

With Shiro gone, Adam, for all his cooking skills, wasn’t doing a great job of keeping his kitchen stocked. Lance had to puppy-dog-eye Keith into going out for the ingredients he needed to make dinner. Now, Keith grunted in acknowledgment when Lance got up to take some of the bags and press a thankful kiss to his cheek. Mercifully, Lance chose not to mention the blush that graced his mate’s ears at the innocent gesture.

He allowed himself an evening of domestic bliss. An evening to pretend _this_ was his childhood home. To pretend he and Keith had met through the foster system rather than in the wake of horrific trauma, pretend Shiro and Adam were the healthily in love parents he’d always wanted and never had. 

Pretending helped sometimes. It really did.


	21. with the constant drone of the unfulfilled

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Are you working on your research again? Keith, that’s awesome!”
> 
> Keith’s eyes flew wide open. He lifted his head from Lance’s bicep and scrambled to stuff the binder into a desk drawer.
> 
> “Don’t worry about it."

Lance wrapped his arms around Keith’s neck from behind and kissed his temple. Keith sighed, eyes fluttering closed. He leaned his head on Lance’s arm.

“Save me,” Keith said. “Group projects are so much worse in college. These people are idiots and I’m in hell.”

“They’re not idiots. You’re just too smart for them.”

“You’re one to talk about being too smart. I’m glad we’re getting different degrees. I’d never be able to keep up with your prodigy ass.”

The Dom cracked a single eye open just in time to watch a blush cover his sub’s face. _Red is your color_ , he’d told Lance once, smirking. _C_ _herry on chocolate ice cream. Aww, there it is! You’re so damn cute._

“Oh, hush,” Lance said. “You’re smart, too.”

“Uh-huh. Keep telling me how great I am. I’m here for it.”

Lance opened his mouth to retort – but something caught his eye.

There, tucked under Keith’s glowing notepad, was a familiar, three-ring binder. Excitement twisted Lance’s stomach.

“Are you working on your research again? Keith, that’s awesome!”

Both of Keith’s eyes flew wide open. He lifted his head from Lance’s bicep and scrambled to stuff the binder into a desk drawer.

“Don’t worry about it,” Keith said.

Lance sighed. So much for progress.

“Babe. Seriously? I thought we moved past you feeling like you have to hide this from me.”

Keith had allowed to him to help once, way back in January, when Lance first found the ratty old collection of maps and scribbled notes. To see Keith’s face light up as he explained it all was practically euphoric.

After that, Keith closed off again. In regards to his research, at least. He’d never let Lance see it again.

So, after Shiro left for Kerberos in June, Lance pulled out the big guns: he pouted for days on end and flat-out _begged_ to see the infamous shack. After seventy-two hours, Keith broke, desperate to put an end to the constant pestering.

Not that they did much once they got out there, anyway. Keith spent an awkward few minutes showing Lance around his childhood home. He shuffled his feet and avoided Lance’s eyes while he explained pieces of his research that made little to no sense out of context.

Lance saw his Dom’s discomfort and took pity. They ended up spending most of the day waltzing around the room while a staticky old radio played slow country love ballads. Lance had laughed hysterically as he tried to teach his mate to dance; Keith blushed and grumbled each time he tripped over his own feet.

“It doesn’t matter,” Keith said and slammed the desk drawer shut. “It doesn’t even mean anything. I’m just making stuff up.”

“How did we get to the point where _I_ have more faith in you than you do?”

Keith shrugged. He stared pointedly at his notepad. “I don’t know. I need to work on my project.”

“I thought group projects were hell.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t have to do it.”

Lance sighed. He could poke and prod all he wanted, but no amount of it would earn him a proper answer. “Fine. I’ll let you work. But – Keith?”

“Hmm.”

“I’m proud of you. I hope you know that.”

Keith gulped. His throat moved where Lance’s arm brushed his Adam’s apple.

“I know. Thank you, sweetheart.”

Lance dropped a parting kiss on the top of his head. “You’re welcome.”

He would just have to try again later.


	22. but we'll never fall if we stand for something

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A stranger’s hip collided with his own as he waited in the coffee line. Lance gasped when a few droplets of scalding liquid splashed onto the toe of his shoe.
> 
> The voice that offered profuse apologies was a familiar one.

A stranger’s hip collided with his own as he waited in the coffee line. Lance gasped when a few droplets of scalding liquid splashed onto the toe of his shoe.

The voice that offered profuse apologies was a familiar one.

“I’m _so_ sorry! I need to learn to watch where I’m going. That’s totally my bad, man-”

Lance looked up with a faint smile. “It’s fine, really. A little coffee won’t – _Leo_?”

The guy – _Leo_ – blinked. The apology was gone from his lips at once. He flashed a wide grin.

“Lance McClain,” he said. “ _Wow_. I didn’t think there would be anybody from the Garrison around here.”

Lance hadn’t expected to see familiar faces, either. The U.A.A. had a reputation around the Garrison as the astrosciences college for public high schoolers – the place you went if you weren’t good enough to make ninth grade admission into the Garrison, but still wanted to try your hand at piloting or engineering.

Not that it was a _bad_ university – it just wasn’t the _best._

The anticipated lack of Garrison graduates was exactly why he and Keith had chosen U.A.A. The less people from senior year they had to face at college, the better.

Leo, though? If there was one classmate Lance had no qualms seeing again, it was him.

How lucky. Suspiciously so.

“Neither did I,” Lance said. “So, uh – how have you been?”

He winced. It sounded so _fake._

Leo was there on the day of his eighth and final assault. He’d helped Keith find Adam after the fact, breaking away from other students who only stared and mumbled gossip.

Leo knew. He knew a hell of a lot more than anyone on campus ever would, if Lance had any say in it. _How have you been?_ didn’t feel like enough. Lance felt like he owed this guy so much more.

Leo didn’t seem to mind at all. He flashed a pearly smile. “I’m great! How are you? How’s Keith?”

God, this was _weird._

“I’m fine,” Lance said. “And Keith. We’re both – fine.”

“Well, fine’s better than bad, right?” Leo nudged his shoulder and chuckled.

It took Lance a minute to realize he was trying to be friendly. Trying to keep their small-talk light and fun. Was that how acquaintances were supposed to act when they spilled coffee on one another’s shoes? Was acknowledging their previous affiliation a requirement? Was saying you were doing well, even if you weren’t, some sort of social obligation?

Weird, weird, _weird._

“Yeah.” Lance cleared his throat. “Yeah, uh, it is. Better. Better than bad.”

“Glad to hear it, man.” Leo pulled a few napkins from the holder on a nearby table and pressed them into Lance’s hand. “Well, hey, I’m sorry about the whole coffee on your shoe thing. I didn’t burn your toes or anything, did I?”

Some demon or other evil entity must have possessed Lance’s tongue, because he blurted on impulse: “I’m wearing socks!”

Leo’s smile faltered. His next laugh verged on nervous. A few heads swiveled toward them.

“Oh – cool,” he said weakly. “So am I.”

Lance managed to catch himself before he uttered something along the lines of, _yeah, socks are dope._ Barely.

He stepped out of the line.

“You know what?” He scratched the back of his head and avoided Leo’s eyes. “I’m not all that thirsty. There’s – stuff. To do. Bye.”

He turned on his heel and scurried away without a backward glance.

 

* * *

 

Keith roared in laughter. His hands grabbed at a cramp in his side.

Lance pouted. “It’s not funny.”

“Oh my _God_ , it’s so funny. ‘I’m wearing socks’? What the _fuck_ , Lance?”

“I panicked, okay?!”

“’Socks are dope.’ Oh, _Lord_ , help me-”

“I didn’t even say that part! I just thought it!”

Keith completely dissolved, laughing too hard to respond. Tears leaked down his reddened face.

Was Lance wrong, though?

He _was_ wearing socks!


	23. we are the long forgotten sons

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was in the dim lighting of their dorm at one in the morning, watching peace smooth over Keith’s face as he fell asleep, that Lance finally made his decision.

It was in the dim lighting of their dorm at one in the morning, watching peace smooth over Keith’s face as he fell asleep, that Lance finally made his decision.

With a twinge of guilt, he shook his mate’s shoulder. Keith jumped. Bleary eyes fluttered before they landed on Lance.

“Hey.” The Dom’s voice croaked. “Everything alright?”

Lance swallowed thickly and nodded. “Mostly.”

Keith woke in earnest, then. He lifted his head from the pillows with a look of mild alarm.

“Mostly? What do you mean, mostly?”

“I made up my mind.”

“About what?”

“About – _Keith_. You know what about.”

Understanding dawned on the other’s face, and Lance exhaled in relief. The last thing he wanted to do was explain himself.

Keith stroked the back of one hand across Lance’s cheekbone, feather-light. “Okay. What are we doing?”

 _We._ Not what was Lance doing. We. The implication was no doubt entirely intended. Lance sniffled.

“I want to see him,” he said. “I want to see Alexander. And I want you to be there.”

Keith didn’t miss a beat. He gave a firm nod. “I’ll always be there.”

Lance couldn’t hold back. He cradled his lover’s face between two hands and kissed him, deep and passionate. Keith responded with an equal fervor.

Of course he would be there. Lance didn’t doubt it for a second.


	24. and daughters that don't belong to anyone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “On one condition.”
> 
> “Sure. What is it?”
> 
> “Keith is coming with me."

Lance and Veronica sat at a table in the pub, half-eaten lunches forgotten in front of them. They wore matching grins as they watched Rachel flirt at the bar with a sub man at least fifteen years older than her.

Once Rachel was thoroughly distracted, Veronica turned back toward him. Her smile melted in an instant. She leaned across the table on crossed arms.

“Have you made up your mind?” She asked. “I mean – not to pressure you, but...”

Lance shook his head. “You’re not pressuring me.”

How could she be? He was the one who’d texted her right at the break of dawn, citing that he’d finally made a decision and asking if they could meet up to discuss it.

He only wished she wouldn’t have brought their sister along without asking. Rachel, however, seemed to be doing a spectacular job of entertaining herself.

Veronica’s leg bounced, and the table trembled. “So?”

“I’m ready. I want to come see him.”

Her face lit up with a smile. Lance hardly thought it was appropriate for the situation. He made no comment.

“Lance, that’s _great_ ,” she said.

A memory of their mother’s voice echoed in his head. _If you don’t have anything nice to say, don’t say anything at all._ Lance pressed his lips into a thin line and nodded.

Rachel looked over at them when the object of her interest turned and said something to his friend. She gave them an exaggerated two thumbs up. Lance couldn’t help it; he smiled, too, wide and real.

At least some things never changed.

Rachel’s eyes moved away again, and Lance laid down the punchline. “On one condition.”

“Sure. What is it?”

“Keith is coming with me. If he can’t, then I’m not going.”

His face and tone were solid. He left no room for argument.

Veronica’s eyes flickered with something akin to annoyance. Lance bit back hundreds of scathing remarks when they clambered up his throat and threatened to leap off the high dive of his tongue.

His agreement to reconnect with Alexander was a miracle in and of itself. He could just as easily have refused. What right did she have to be bothered by such a simple term?

“That’s up to you,” Veronica said after a long moment. “But you know it’ll only make him angry.”

“He’ll be angry no matter what. That’s why I want Keith there.”

Not to say Lance was afraid of his father flying off the handle. He wasn’t. Alexander had only ever hit Verita. He rarely even raised his voice at his children.

But he sure as hell knew how to manipulate Lance. How to twist his own submissive nature against him. How to make him feel guilty enough to offer profuse apologies for things that weren’t even his fault. How to make him cry; how to make him hate himself.

With Keith in the room, the man wouldn’t dare. Alexander was a dick – but he wasn’t stupid by any stretch of the imagination. He knew better than to challenge another Dom by mistreating their sub. Anyone with three functioning brain cells knew better.

He submitted to and took orders from his own Dom. He was weak and pliant for _Keith_. Nobody else. His submissive nature was Keith’s alone to enjoy.

Veronica nodded. “If you’re sure, then be my guest. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a couple people have asked me about character headcanons and missing scenes and such so - if you guys have any questions or just little things you're wondering about this fic, or about original hlp, please leave a comment and ask! ask anything, friends! as long as the answer doesn't spoil future chapters of requiem or future fics in this series, I'm more than happy to answer. if it does get into spoily territory i'll just...respond with an emoji or something dhdjudhd idek.
> 
> ask away in the comments! no question is dumb, I adore headcanons, and hlp hc's make my heart go dynamite BOOM


	25. we are alone under this sun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Where did you buy that and, dear Lord, why?”

A tie was slung over the screen of his laptop, interrupting his engrossment in an action film. An _ugly_ tie. Lance gave his Dom an incredulous look.

“Where did you buy that and, dear Lord, _why_?”

Two marginally less ugly ties were draped over either of Keith’s shoulders. “Guess you veto that one for tonight, then.”

Lance pinched the fabric between two fingers. He crinkled his nose and held the tie at arm’s length as he moved it from his screen, aware and intentional in the dramatization.

“First of all,” he said, “I don’t just veto. I’d like to politely ask that you kill it with fire.” Keith snorted. “Secondly, what’s happening tonight that you had to buy three ties for?”

Keith sat on the edge of the bed and patted his thigh, encouraging him to make room. Lance heaved a dramatic sigh. He scooted a few inches across the mattress – enough space for Keith to join him, but little enough that he’d have to snuggle up awfully close. The little game earned him a smirk. Keith pressed against him without a second’s hesitation.

“I needed two, not three.” Keith gestured toward the light blue tie with pink Hawaiian flowers that so thoroughly disgusted his sub. “I found that on clearance for two bucks, babe. It was a joke.”

Keith, isolated as he’d been for much of his childhood, wasn’t always eloquent or clear in the things he called _jokes_. It never really seemed like he was joking. Even now, a blush accented his pale face as he realized his _joke_ had fallen abysmally flat.

Lance found the quirk rather endearing. The excess of love he felt spilled out on his face in the form of a smile.

“Very funny, babe.” Lance patted his knee.

Keith clutched at his chest. “ _So_ condescending. I’m hurt, Lance, deeply.”

“Oh, whatever. Leave the theatrics to me. I’m better at it.”

Keith allowed the grin he’d been fighting to bloom, unrestrained. He kissed the side of Lance’s face.

“You are, aren’t you? Your most annoying talent.”

Lance laughed a little. His eyes fluttered closed as he leaned his head on Keith’s shoulder. “So, why do you need two ties? What’s tonight?”

“Date night. One’s for you. Which do you want?”

His eyes flew open. Lance lifted his head and gave his Dom an appraising look.

“Date night?” He asked. “That’s a nice surprise. Where are we going?”

“Dinner.”

Lance scoffed. “Wow, thank you for being _so_ specific. Dinner _where_?”

“I’m not telling. You’ll see when we get there. Want to go or not?”

Lance paused, considering. His eyes drifted to the more acceptable ties draped over Keith’s shoulders. He took one: a deep blue with simple, sophisticated white swirls.

Keith nodded in approval. “Good choice. I wanted the red one. I’ll take that as a yes – or did you just want the tie?”

“Of course it’s a yes, dumbass.”

“You’re the dumbass, dumbass.”

“Do you really want to insult the person who has final say on whether or not you get any tonight?”

Keith’s mouth snapped shut at once.

A _very_ wise choice.


	26. we work to fix the work that you've undone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How did you even get a reservation here?” Lance hissed, hanging on Keith’s arm as the valet pulled their car around.
> 
> Keith’s lips twitched with telltale mischief. “I know a guy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys; so i'm not gonna say the title or the author, but theres a D/s klance fic thats been posted in which the author says it was inspired by/dedicated to hlp. it's been brought to my attention that their fic is a plagiarized version of a glee/klaine D/s fic.
> 
> I wanted to let you guys know because I don't want anyone to stumble upon a plagarized fic that has a link to hlp/my profile and think I support it. I do NOT support that fic now that I've been made aware its plagiarized. i'm actually pretty fucking angry about this. especially since the author immediately orphaned their account the second they got called out so now my name and hlp are permanently attached to a plagiarized story.
> 
> so, just to make sure y'all are on the same page as me: I am not in any way, shape, or form supportive of that fic. they didn't even ask for permission to attach my name or my work to the story.
> 
> anyways HI. I just realized I never write notes on this fic for some reason like I did in hlp?? I miss chatting w/ y'all whattup fam

Their ‘simple dinner’ ended up being at a place so fancy, Lance was certain Keith must have asked to dip into the Kerberos paychecks. No amount of odd-jobs doing weekend yard work could have paid for their gourmet meal.

Regardless, the date was fantastic. Lance felt entirely relaxed, holding Keith’s hand across a candlelit table. It was nice to talk about school, friends, and their future, rather than the _one thing_ constantly looming above their heads as of late. Not to mention, the food was _delicious_. Lance understood at first bite why it was the only restaurant in Plant City with a five-star rating.

“How did you even get a reservation here?” Lance hissed, hanging on Keith’s arm as the valet pulled their car around.

Keith’s lips twitched with telltale mischief. “I know a guy.”

Dinner, wonderful as it was, actually wasn’t Lance’s favorite memory made that evening. His favorite part began with the heated, sloppy kisses they exchanged, bodies pressed firmly together, as Keith fumbled to unlock the door to their dorm. It consisted of Lance being pressed roughly into a wall, trembling legs wrapped around Keith’s waist, crying out as Keith took him without any pretense of mercy. Two crumpled suits, ties and all, lay at their feet.

Lance scratched at Keith’s shoulder blades. Keith groaned into the crook of his neck.

“Do I feel good, Sir?” Lance moved one hand to pet through his Dom’s hair. “Does it feel good inside me? Do I make Sir’s cock feel good?”

The art of dirty talk had intimidated Lance at first. Nowadays, he liked to think of it as a talent. One he was particularly refined in, if the way Keith gasped and began to pound him harder was any indication.

“Say my name, beautiful.” Keith nipped at his neck, then pressed a kiss over the teeth marks. “S-say it for me.”

A thrill shot through him at being temporarily unchained from one of his rules. Lance almost choked on the words. “ _Keith_. Keith, baby, so good. _So_ good.”

“You’re mine, aren’t you? My good boy knows who he belongs to. All mine, beautiful, all for me.”

“Keith! Yes, please, oh _God_. Right there, baby. _Keith_.”

“ _Fuck._ Close, sweet boy. I’m so close.”

It wasn’t long before Keith’s growls and heated, possessive speech turned into sharp whines. His hips stuttered and his thrusts grew erratic. One hand grasped at Lance’s cock, pulling down the foreskin to rub a thumb over his slit.

“ _Keith!_ ” Lance slammed his head back into the wall with a gasp, too overwhelmed to care much about the sharp pain in his skull.

“Come for me.” Keith moaned as he left wet kisses over Lance’s jaw and neck. “You can come first, beautiful boy. I want to see it.”

Lance, the good boy he tried so hard to be, obeyed. He cried out another choked litany of his Dom’s name, spilling cum over the fist that held him.

Keith wasn’t far behind. He panted against Lance’s neck as he pulsed inside of him, filling him up. His arms encircled Lance’s waist to pull him impossibly closer. He dropped his head onto the sub’s shoulder with a last few weak, aborted thrusts.

Subspace fell soft and lush over him. Keith’s muscles relaxed, and he felt a contented sigh puffed against his skin. Keith's hands stroking his back and the sweet kisses to his collar bone seemed to happen through a haze.

“Good boy,” Keith whispered. “You took me so well, sweetheart. That’s my good boy.”

 _His_ good boy. Not just _a_ good boy. _Keith’s_. The thought chased Lance into the deeper stages of subspace, aiding him along in his search for bliss.

His. His. His.

_All yours, Sir._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if u couldnt already tell,,,yes,,,i headcanon lance as being uncircumcised
> 
> i also headcanon that he finds the image of keith sweating out in the sun doing weekend yardwork to be quite..........yummy
> 
> thank u and goodnight


	27. don't fall, i see lights in the distance (they're not far away)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let Keith see he was scared. Why not? He couldn’t hide it forever. This was scary. He was scared. It was a simple fact.
> 
> And, besides: since when did being scared of something mean you couldn’t square your shoulders and face it anyway?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all know how I was teasing u on tumblr last night to figure out something about alexander 
> 
> yeah
> 
> here it is :)

Lance was getting pretty sick of this scenario.

He never thought there would be a type of moment with Keith he didn’t enjoy, but – well – there they were.

There they were, rumbling down the road in silence. Keith’s hand clenched around his own was the only thing that kept him grounded to earth. The only thing that stopped his lungs from seizing up and panic from flooding his brain. He missed being able to hold his Dom’s hand just for the sake of it, rather than as a means to maintain sanity.

“You feel okay?” Keith asked. He looked almost as nervous as Lance felt. “We don’t have to do this. We can turn around whenever you want. It’s not set in stone.”

“Keith? Your Dom is showing.”

That got Keith to crack a small smile. Lance allowed himself a moment of internal celebration. If he couldn’t feel alright himself, he at least wanted to make his mate happy.

“Your smartass is showing, you brat.” Keith kissed his hand. For once, Lance didn’t complain about the mere five fingers used to grip the wheel. Partially because he figured it was a lost cause at that point, but mostly because he never wanted Keith to let go again.

“I don’t want to turn around.” Lance’s voice shook. He made no effort to correct it.

Let Keith see he was scared. Why not? He couldn’t hide it forever. This was scary. He was scared. It was a simple fact.

And, besides: since when did being scared of something mean you couldn’t square your shoulders and face it anyway?

Keith hesitated. He gave Lance’s fingers a brief squeeze. “If you’re sure.”

“Of course I’m not sure.” Lance kept his gaze averted from Keith’s worried frown. “There’s no way to be sure. I’m doing it anyway.”

The GPS sounded a polite beep. _In one-fourth of a mile, turn left, and your destination will be on the right._

Lance frowned as he scanned the mostly barren landscape. To the left, the road curved around a series of rolling hills. There were no houses to be found.

Keith let go of his sub’s hand, instead using his own to hit the screen of the built-in GPS a few times. As if that was supposed to help.

“ _Well_ , he said when Lance shot him a scolding look. “What’s _your_ plan? Please, astound me with your genius.”

“My _plan_ is to follow the map.” He shifted in his seat, arms crossed over his chest.

“You seriously think your folks’ place is out here? In the middle of nowhere?”

“...I wouldn’t be surprised.”

Keith looked at him like he’d grown a second head. Lance  kept quiet. He  was in no mood to explain himself.

The longer he looked at those rolling hills, and the more he considered it, the more likely it seemed.

Of course, none of this made even the slightest bit of sense to his Dom. Nevertheless, Keith chose to trust his judgment. When that curve in the road approached, he turned left.

The hills laid out before them, then disappeared one by one. Lance was slightly worried he might go into cardiac arrest, given the fluttering might of his pulse.

Beep.  _Your destination is on the right._

They passed the last hill. Their destination was, indeed, revealed.

It towered at three stories and boasted fresh paint – fresh everything, actually. Custom built to Alexander’s specifications, no doubt. It was larger than their old home in Miami. Probably large enough to qualify as a mansion.

Lance wasn’t surprised. His father had a penchant for the dramatic. It seemed to be the one personality trait they shared. What better way to symbolize the pain and sorrow of terminal illness than spend one’s remaining days in a lush and lavish home, isolated from the world via private paradise?

The car rolled to a stop on the curb. Lance took a deep breath and drank in the unfamiliar sight as he waited for his Dom to help him out.

But Keith didn’t come around to unbuckle him in his typical, chivalrous fashion. The driver’s door never opened. When Lance finally tore his eyes away from the new McClain estate, he saw why.

Keith stared at the home with a dropped jaw and wide eyes, frozen in place. “What...the... _fuck_?”

Lance cleared his throat and began to hurriedly unbuckle his own seatbelt. “Wow, would you look at the time? We’re a few minutes late. Veronica’s probably waiting for us-”

A hand snatched his wrist, holding him in place. Lance gulped. He met his Dom’s eyes.

“I repeat...” Keith said. “What the actual _fuck_?”

With his free hand, Lance reached up to scratch at the fine hairs on the nape of his neck.

“Oh. Yeah. Did I forget to mention? My dad’s, uh...my dad’s kind of a billionaire.”


	28. stand up because the sky is turning grey

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You okay?”
> 
> I might just punch your dad’s face in. I might just fucking strangle the bitch right here. He’s dying, anyway, right? Will you visit me in prison?
> 
> “Yeah, sweetheart. I’m okay.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Y'ALL SO EXTRA IN THE COMMENTS OF THE LAST CHAPTER FFFNFJFFF YOU HAVE NO IDEA HOW LONG I'VE BEEN WAITING TO SEE THE REACTION TO THAT
> 
> edit: lmfao okay quick announcement. ao3 user yaoilover1013. that's the story plaigarizer, on a different account. they posted a new D/s story today. I have no idea if its stolen or if they actually wrote it but please don't support content by this user. for some reason they're really fucking desperate to write a story like hlp and I wish they'd just cut their losses and stop tbh.

Keith was pretty fucking sure he was about to dissolve into a puddle of acidic rage.

Veronica led them through the house. Lance pressed close to his side, muscles tense. Keith had to wonder how, exactly, he was going to control his fists the second he set eyes on that bitch-ass _motherfucker._

He recalled Lance telling him, what had to be about ten month ago, how he’d had to spend three years fighting tooth and nail for a Garrison scholarship. Lance was more than qualified to get in, but his father wouldn’t pay the tuition. It just now hit him, his sub’s choice of words – _wouldn’t._

Not that Alexander _couldn’t_ pay. He just didn’t want to.

He withheld Lance from his true potential. He made his four Dom children attend community college, despite their qualification for much more exclusive schools. Keith had no doubt the man, considering his disgusting viewpoint on subs, never had any intention for Lance to attend college at all.

But he could relocate his sub and their daughters. He could force them to uproot their entire lives for what little was left of his. He could spend a small fortune building himself a mansion on some empty land. He could dish out money on one of the country’s best hospital oncology departments and an award-winning oncologist, irregardless of the fact that his case was terminal and Plant City Regional could do nothing more for him than any other hospital.

Lance squeezed his hand. Keith looked down at their intertwined fingers. His eyes slid over his sub’s arm in the process, well-toned with hints of muscle and a healthy layer of meat.

An unwelcome memory invaded his thoughts. The image hit Keith hard enough to make bile rush up his throat: the image of Lance, a year ago.

Lance, all skin and bones, perpetually trembling from undernourishment. Lance, blue fingers and yellow bruises. Lance, bursting into tears every five seconds and stuttering apologies for no good reason. Lance, starving. Lance, lost. Lance, suicidal. Lance, broken.

Alexander could more than afford to live in luxury for what little time he had left – but he couldn’t be bothered to _feed_ his own fucking _child_.

“You okay?”

Lance murmured close to his ear, and Keith realized his hands were shaking. The one intertwined with Lance’s held his darker fingers in a vice-like grip. He loosened it at once. He doubted his sub actually minded all that much, but those ugly memories invoked in him a need for softness. A need to be sweet and gentle with his sub. God knew Lance deserved it.

That boiling anger, too, should be reserved for another. Keith pushed it to the back of his mind. He offered Lance a kind smile.

_I might just punch your dad’s face in. I might just fucking strangle the bitch right here. He’s dying, anyway, right? Will you visit me in prison?_

“Yeah, sweetheart. I’m okay.”


	29. there's hope in these footsteps of persistence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance knew what Keith suppressing his fury meant and how it usually manifested. He could only pray his Dom wouldn’t lunge at Alexander, fists flying, the second they set sights on him.

It took Keith a good few minutes to recover before he was ready leave the car. Lance complied the silent command to sit still without hesitation. He allowed Keith to grip his wrist tight as the Dom took deep breaths through clenched teeth.

He knew it wasn’t him Keith was mad at.

Lance remembered all too well – though he wished he didn’t – the pain of hunger gnawing at his gut. He remembered the sorrow on Keith’s face the first time he bought Lance a meal he was so desperately in need of. He remembered the way Keith looked at him with tragedy swirling in his eyes as Lance wolfed down every last bite.

Keith had to know now. He couldn’t look at the house and _not_ know. It wasn’t that Alexander wanted to send him money and simply had none. The McClains far from lived in poverty.

He just honest-to-God _forgot_. Lance’s well-being was not a priority to Alexander. He didn’t think about it. He didn’t care.

Lance had long ago come to terms with that. But he realized, as Veronica lead them down extravagantly decorated halls, what a new concept it was to Keith.

Keith was the one who had so painstakingly pieced Lance back together after he fell apart. Keith was the one who’d fed and nursed his frail body back to health. To know that the man who’d allowed Lance to become so sick and weak had more than enough money to spare – to see how willingly Alexander spent millions on himself, his own comfort in his final days, his own leisure –

 _Well._ Lance couldn’t blame Keith when his hand began to tremble with thinly veiled rage.

“You okay?” Lance asked.

Keith immediately loosened his grip. He flashed Lance a smile. It wasn’t convincing.

“Yeah, sweetheart,” he said. “I’m okay.”

Lance swallowed. He knew what Keith suppressing his fury meant and how it usually manifested. He could only pray his Dom wouldn’t lunge at Alexander, fists flying, the second they set sights on him.

Veronica swept down another hall and stopped at the first door. Her fingers hovered above the handle.

“I thought you might want to see her first,” she said.

His heart pounded. “Her?”

Of course, he knew exactly who Veronica meant. With all his anxiety over seeing Alexander again, he’d almost forgotten his mother lived here, too.

Veronica gave him a bittersweet smile. “Do you want to?”

Lance had no words. His mouth felt dry. He nodded. Veronica opened the door for him, then stepped aside.

And there she was. Sunlight streamed through the open curtains and illuminated her messily braided hair. She stood with her back to them and folded laundry over a small table, oblivious to their presence.

When Lance spoke, his voice cracked.

“Mama?”


	30. so don't go astray (these lights get closer every day)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance fell into her embrace willingly. His arms wrapped tight around her and he dropped his head onto her shoulder. She hugged him like the entire world rested in her embrace; the sun, the moon, and the stars, there for her to hold.
> 
> Keith decided at once that he liked her. Anyone who treated Lance like the priceless treasure he was earned an irrevocable place in his good books.

Keith gave his sub’s hand one last squeeze and dropped it. Lance had tears glistening in his eyes. His mouth hung open for a few moments before he spoke.

He took a slow step into the room, voice trembling. “Mama?”

The woman – Lance’s mother – dropped the T-shirt in her hands and turned with a gasp.

“Lance?” She whispered. Her eyes flickered toward Keith, then rested on her son. She looked at him as though he might vanish into thin air any second.

“ _Si mamá. Soy yo. Estoy aquí.”_

Keith stepped back to stand alongside Veronica in the hall. He swallowed around a lump in his throat and watched the reunion through an open doorway. It wasn’t his mother. It wasn’t his moment. He had no right to intrude.

Lance’s Mama opened her arms. Her chin wobbled. A single tear slipped down her face as she choked out, “ _Ven aquí, bebé._ Come here, come here.”

Lance fell into her embrace willingly. His arms wrapped tight around her and he dropped his head onto her shoulder. She hugged him like the entire world rested in her embrace; the sun, the moon, and the stars, there for her to hold.

Keith decided at once that he liked her. Anyone who treated Lance like the priceless treasure he was earned an irrevocable place in his good books.

“I missed you.” Lance spoke soft and muffled against his mother’s blouse. If he hadn’t strained his ears like he did, Keith might not have been able to make out the words. “I missed you so much. I love you, Mama.”

“ _Te amo, mi hermoso hijo.”_

Veronica sniffled beside him and swiped a single finger beneath her eye. She didn’t seem to notice the odd look Keith shot her.

He had yet to decide where Veronica fit in his mental categorizations of Lance’s family members. He found it highly unlikely she’d ever do anything to land herself in the same severe box as her father. At the same time, she wouldn’t quite fit in the shiny, treasured new drawer he’d just created for their mother.

Perhaps she needed a category of her own, somewhere in the middle. _To be determined._

Keith bit his lip, reluctant. After a moment, he spoke up.

“Lance?” He said. Lance startled and lifted his head. His mother stared at Keith, wide-eyed. “I’m just – going to go downstairs, or something-”

At once, Mrs. McClain made her disapproval of that idea evident. She tutted at him and wagged a finger in the air.

“You will do _no_ such thing,” she said. “Are you my son’s Dom? Have you claimed him?”

Keith froze. He couldn’t tell whether or not she was okay with that idea – but a quick glance at his sub showed Lance was entirely relaxed, still leaning into his mother with a smile. He gave Keith an encouraging nod.

“Um – yeah. He’s – yes. He’s my sub. I’m his Dom. We’re...together. And stuff.”

God, he wished he could kiss that smug smirk off of Lance’s face.

If the woman noticed Keith’s awkwardness or her son’s silent teasing, she said nothing of it. She extended an arm toward him and waved him over.

“ _Bueno, ven aquí, entonces._ You need to hug me, too.”

“Oh...no, I’m – I’m really not much of a hugger-”

“ _¡No discutiendo!”_

Keith didn’t speak a word of Spanish, so he was entirely in the dark as to her words – but her tone was unmistakable. Especially when combined with the few sharp snaps of her fingers.

Veronica put a hand on his back and pushed. Keith stumbled into an awkward side hug, this woman’s arm in a bruising grip around his shoulders and his face squished against the side of her head. Lance’s smirk grew tenfold.

Keith sighed. He really _wasn’t_ much for hugging (Lance being an obvious exception.) Still, he made no attempt to move away.

Lance’s smile might have been mirthful and teasing – but it was a _smile_ all the same.

If stiff, awkward hugs with people he’d just met was something that would keep a smile on Lance’s face, then so be it.


	31. [III] every single time i turn around, my name is in your mouth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith hadn’t even met Alexander yet and the man was already making a sucky first impression.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEEEET HERE'S ACT 3 FAM ENJOY

**ACT THREE: COME AND GET IT**

**(chapters 31-42)**

 

* * *

 

["Come and Get It" - I Prevail](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tGGwFvf1RtE)

 

* * *

 

"Just because you're winning a game doesn't mean it's a good game." - Seth Godin

 

* * *

 

Veronica did do one thing to earn brownie points with Keith: she allowed Lance a good while to reconnect with their mother before breaking up the party. It helped that empathy shone in her eyes when she suggested they move on to the main event.

Of course, the light faded from his sub regardless of how kindly she put it. His face darkened and his shoulders slumped. Lance lost what little joy he’d managed to find that day, but it was hardly Veronica’s fault.

It was Alexander’s.

Rage resonated in Keith’s bones at the thought, and they rattled against his skin. He didn’t want the two of them to be there. He didn’t want to do it.

All this time, he’d worried Lance wasn’t ready to see Alexander, that he might lose a significant measure of the progress he’d made over the past year. Progress in his self-esteem, his ability to stand up for himself, his general emotional wellness. Progress his father could steamroll with a snap of his fingers.

It struck Keith all at once how wrong he was. His sub, though he might take a few hits, was strong enough to get back up again. Lance would be alright.

What he needed to worry about was himself.

Specifically, how the _actual fuck_ he was going to control himself around Alexander McClain. If he even could.

Veronica rubbed Lance’s shoulder in a way that looked comforting, if not a tad condescending, as they started back down the hall.

“I thought that might help,” she said. “Settle your nerves a little.”

Lance smiled bittersweetly. “It did.”

If seeing his mother made Lance feel better, he had no complaints, but it didn’t make Keith feel better in the slightest. Watching Lance interact with her set off a stone rolling in his thoughts that he was powerless to stop.

Alexander was incredibly neglectful of Lance. They’d established as much.

If his own child meant so little to him – how did he treat his sub?

Keith would bet every last fucking thing he owned the answer to that question was not a pleasant one. Maybe terminal cancer wasn’t a push on the man’s karma envelope, after all. Assuming his suspicions were correct, it would be more accurate to paint this as Lady Justice restoring balance in the universe.

He squeezed Lance’s hand. Mostly because he felt an urge to clench his fists and forgot he was holding it. If Lance suspected Keith’s inner turmoil, he didn’t say anything. He must have felt it, though. Keith certainly felt his.

The further they walked, the more tense Lance grew at his side and the stiffer his strides became. Keith tried to keep his mouth shut. He tried to give his mate space. If it were him, he would appreciate some silent support while he untangled his thoughts.

All bets were off the instant Lance’s bottom lip began to tremble.

“Hey," Keith said.

Lance stared at his feet. He turned his head to the side when Keith tried to catch his eyes.

A few feet ahead, Veronica glanced over her shoulder, but she made no comment. Keith slowed his pace. Lance obeyed the implied command; his steps faltered for a moment, then fell in time. The few feet between them and Veronica quickly became a few yards.

Keith lowered his voice to a whisper and tried again. “Lance. Sweetheart, please talk to me.”

Lance treated the request like an order. Not because he mistook it for one, but because he could rarely find it in him to deny Keith’s requests. He lifted his head to meet his Dom’s gaze. Ocean eyes rippled and threatened to spill over.

“I’m fine,” he said.

Keith bit his tongue to keep a humorless laugh contained. “That’s bullshit and you know it.”

“I _will_ be fine. Better?”

“No.”

Lance would be alright, later on, after all was said and done. Keith had already figured as much. _Will be_ wasn’t his priority in that moment. He wanted Lance to _be_ okay, right then and there. He wanted to forcibly stop the world from turning and right every wrong in their scenario before the clock hands moved another centimeter.

“I don’t give a fuck about later,” he said, blunt and real, because that was how he had to be with Lance sometimes. “I want you to be fine _now_.”

“Well, I’m not. I can’t just force myself to be fine. Not while he’s around.”

“Then why are we here?”

Lance opened his mouth, then shut it. He faced forward, chin jutted out. Keith knew the look well.

That look was the final vie for self-induced ignorance. The final straw before Lance caved and spilled all his emotions messy on the floor for Keith to see. He always went through that ritual, hiding his feelings. Like he thought Keith would see him as lesser if only he _knew_.

Keith always knew, eventually. His love was still alive and kicking. Even the mostly unsightly pieces to Lance’s puzzle never turned him away. They were – well, _Keith bait_ , for lack of better words. They could only draw him closer.

Near though he was to cracking the bottle, the spilling would have to wait. Veronica stopped at a room that marked the dead end of a long corridor. Classical music drifted from inside. Something soft and easy on the ears; a nonintrusive sound.

Lance’s face turned up into a grimace. His sister didn’t fare much better.

Only nonintrusive for Keith, then. He wondered what connotation that song held for them. What memories it sparked. Maybe he would learn to hate it, too.

Veronica hesitated. “Do you want me to join you, or…?”

Lance didn’t hesitate at all. “No.”

Honestly, _thank fuck._ This was going to be horrible enough, and Keith couldn’t tell yet what role she played in the great McClain shitshow. Who knew how many wrenches she would have thrown in their conversation?

Veronica didn’t fight him on it. She looked relieved, like she’d made the offer to be nice but hoped he would decline. It was clear she had no interest in spending time with their father.

Keith hadn’t even met Alexander yet and the man was already making a sucky first impression.

“Okay,” Veronica inched away from the door. “I’ll see you later, Lance. Good luck.”

Lance nodded. “Yeah. Thanks.”

Keith hated the mechanical way he spoke. Numb. Suppressing the chaos inside his head, where it would rage until it hurt too much to contain.

“Are you sure about this?” He asked once Veronica was out of earshot. “Seriously. You don’t have to talk to him. We can just go home.”

“I told you: of course I’m not sure.” Lance steeled his shoulders and rolled his neck. “I’m doing it anyway.”

And what else could Keith do? He squeezed his sub’s hand and nodded.

“Then let’s do it.”


	32. i'll just bite my tongue and leave your mouth to run

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sure, kid,” he said. “You just keep telling yourself that.”
> 
> The words were bait dangled right in front of his face. Keith couldn’t resist. He had to bite. “Sucks you won’t be around to find out, huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> AHHHHH HERE'S THE CHAPTER YOU'VE ALL BEEN NOT SO PATIENTLY WAITING FOR
> 
> enjoy!

Alexander stood in the center of the room, looking remarkably healthy for a man so close to death. A cigar hung from lithe fingers. His back was to them as he gazed out a floor-to-ceiling window and hummed along to the melody of the music.

Lance tried to take the lead as they entered – but there was no fucking _way._ All of Keith’s Dom instincts roared. Every hair stood on edge. He growled as he snatched his sub’s wrist and pulled him back to his side. Lance obeyed without a word.

The growl must have been what caught Alexander’s attention; his ears perked and his spine straightened at the primal sound. He turned, cigar raised halfway to his lips.

Smoke curled from the end of the stump and encircled his head. Despite the whole cancer thing, he hadn’t lost his hair; a few gray strands stood out among gelled raven-black. He carried crow’s feet that edged spheres of deep brown, and laugh lines curved around a pearly smile. Though the wrinkles marked his age, they hardly stole anything from his appearance. Keith saw at once that Lance’s good looks were inherited.

“Ah, Lance!” Alexander grinned. “Nice of you to visit, _finally_. Too busy to see your old man?”

His tone was overtly playful. If Keith didn’t know any better, he would have thought the words were an innocent tease. Lance stiffened beside him.

Keith didn’t miss the way Alexander’s eyes flitted over his form. They judged the younger Dom, appraised what he threat he presented, wary and analytical. A smile remained all the while, unwavering.

“I – I’ve been busy.” Lance stumbled through the words. Keith squeezed his hand a little tighter. “You know. School, and stuff.”

Alexander nodded, slow and condescending, and turned his back. He took a few, meandering steps toward the window as well as a drag of his cigar. The words were out of Keith’s mouth before he could catch them.

“You sure you should be smoking that?”

Lance sucked in a breath. Alexander froze for a moment, then hefted an eyebrow-raised look over his shoulder.

“I’m sorry – _who_ are you?”

He didn’t ask in a callous way. It drifted somewhere between amusement and indifference. Keith felt cold roll down his spine. He wasn’t the only one; Lance’s arm shook with a shiver against his own.

The chill was chased by something much more scalding: anger. It burned its way through his veins.

“I’m your son’s Dom,” he said. “So maybe fucking watch the attitude.”

Lanced hissed in his ear. “ _Keith!_ ”

Keith shook his head.

What reason did they have to fear this man? He was an asshat. An absolute fucking joke. Keith felt no obligation to appease him. Like hell did he deserve such attention.

Alexander scoffed. “Sure, his ‘Dom.’”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Well...” He took another puff. “My kid’s not stupid. He knows he needs to find a pretty girl to claim him. This is just a phase or something. Isn’t it, Lance?”

Lance, too, seemed to find his bearings. His jaw clenched and twitched. “No, Alexander. It’s not.”

And then Keith saw for himself Alexander’s favorite form of manipulation: his own unyielding disbelief. He laughed - a familiar, twinkling sound. Keith wanted to strangle the noise from his throat, render him incapable of making it ever again. Lance deserved better than to be stuck with the same laugh as him.

“Sure, kid,” he said. “You just keep telling yourself that.”

The words were bait dangled right in front of his face. Keith couldn’t resist. He had to bite. “Sucks you won’t be around to find out, huh?”

If there was anything he expected, the utter calm that followed wasn’t it.

Alexander nodded. “It does, but that’s alright. I don’t need to see it. We all know he won’t stay with a fag like you forever. My son isn’t gay.”

Lance turned his nose up. “You’re right. I’m not gay. I’m bi.”

Alexander released a breathy chuckle. He settled on the lush couch, one ankle resting on the opposite knee.

“Cute,” he said. The piano music hit a crescendo. He hummed along for a few moments, fingers tapping on his leg. “So you know, then. Was it Veronica?”

As he took a drag, eyes locked on the rolling hills and grey sky outside the window, Lance shot Keith a thoroughly panicked look. Of course he didn’t want to sell out his sister. Keith wasn’t too keen on the idea, either. But what were they supposed to say?

Lance settled for a vague, “Like you said – I’m not stupid. Of course I knew something was up.”

“Ah, just give it up, kid. I know she told you. I don’t care.”

Even Keith, who barely knew the man, smelled the lie from a mile away. He did care, intensely. The truth was palpable.

Lance took a deep breath. He seemed to have the same thought as Keith: time to change the subject. “You...look pretty healthy. You’re not on chemo anything?”

“Of course not. What’s that going to do at this point?”

Keith couldn’t help but feel shocked at how easily Alexander discussed his own death. As if it didn’t matter to him. Perhaps he was putting on a show, hiding behind a mask to ensure he could maintain control over his child.

A waste of time, really. Keith was the _only_ person Lance allowed to control him. Alexander was in for the fucking shock of his short lifetime if he thought he could undermine that. This was only confirmed by the way Lance reached out to take his Dom’s hand again. He locked their fingers together like a promise.

They were in for a _long_ few months.


	33. deep down, i love it when you hate me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance knew it was untrue – silly, really – but he couldn’t help the intrusive, panicked idea that and he and Alexander were essentially the same person.

Lance sighed as he dropped onto the bed and threw an arm over his eyes. The door clicked shut.

“Well,” Keith said. “That was – something.”

Lance grumbled without looking up. “Oh, he’s _somethin’_ , alright.”

The mattress dipped. A weight settled beside him on the bed. Keith’s hand slipped below the hem of Lance’s shirt to rub soothing circles on his belly. Warm lips brushed his cheek.

“Are you okay?” Keith asked, close to his ear.

Lance opened his mouth, then paused, considering. Was he?

“Mostly,” he said. “I guess.”

The worst part of the encounter was that now Keith _knew_ how many similarities Lance and Alexander shared.

At all times, Alexander spoke with the hint of a Cuban accent – the same accent that crept into Lance’s voice when he spoke in his native tongue. They held themselves with identical charm and poise. They looked alike, sharing a facial structure; Lance’s high cheekbones and blade-sharp jaw were mere echoes of his father’s. They both had a flair for the dramatic.

Lance knew it was untrue – silly, really – but he couldn’t help the intrusive, panicked idea that and he and Alexander were essentially the same person. And, even worse, the fear that Keith now saw him in a different light. A much less flattering light.

Keith had a supernatural ability to read his mind. He was sure of it. The second those thoughts invaded, Keith began to press soft, sweet kisses all over his face. He hummed in Lance’s ear, low and sad.

“Stop that,” Keith said. “Stop bottling it up. I’m right here. Talk to me.”

Now that he had his own Dom, the way and Shiro and Adam always communicated wordlessly made a whole lot more sense. Lance, too, was getting better at reading Keith’s mood with each passing day. A mere glance at his face was all Lance needed to be able to tell when Keith’s negative thoughts ran rampant.

Lance lifted his arm from his eyes and allowed a chaste kiss to be etched into each lid. He blinked, lashes fluttering, and was greeted by his favorite sight. Keith’s gorgeous face loomed above him.

“Hi,” Lance whispered.

Keith offered a strained smile. “Seriously, Lance. Talk to me. What’s going on in there?”

He tapped the side of Lance’s head. Lance took the opportunity to intertwine Keith’s open fingers with his own.

“A lot.” He kissed the back of his Dom’s hand. “It’s almost like he doesn’t _care_ that he’s dying. He’s so calm about it.”

“He’s in denial,” Keith said. “Eventually, it’ll hit him, and it’ll hit hard.”

“Yeah. Sorry about the way he treated you.”

“The way he treated _me_? Lance, I don’t give a fuck how he treats me. I’m just sorry you had to grow up with it. That shit can’t be easy on a kid.”

“It’s not.” Lance nuzzled into Keith’s neck. “It wasn’t.”

Keith’s arm snaked around his waist and held him tight. “He’s just jealous.”

“Jealous of what?”

“Me. I’m a better Dom than him.”

Lance opened his fluttering eyes again. Keith fought to contain a knowing smirk.

“You are.” Lance couldn’t help but smile back as he confirmed the sentiment. “You’re, like, the best Dom _ever_. The King of Doms. All other Dominants bow like submissive before you.”

The playful monologue achieved its intended effect. Heat burst over Keith’s face. “That’s not what I meant!”

“Well, what if it’s what I meant?”

“Then I claimed a mouthy brat.”

Lance threw his head back in honest laughter. “Like you didn’t already know that!”

“Fucking Christ, you’re impossible.”

“Oh, I know.”

Lance spread fingers in the back of Keith’s hair and pressed their mouths together, rough and greedy.

Suffice to say, Alexander was not mentioned again that afternoon.


	34. keep it up, it's funny that you can't see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a moment, Lance was five again, bouncing on tippy-toes to peer over the counter and ask, is it ready yet?
> 
> But he wasn’t five anymore. He was nineteen, and he was so far from innocent, the concept was almost laughable.

The scent of baking guava wafted toward him. Lance bit back the sudden emotion that rose in his throat and behind his eyes.

God, the _memories._

His mother stood beside him at the sink. She scrubbed her hands and washed powdered sugar down the drain. For a moment, Lance was five again, bouncing on tippy-toes to peer over the counter and ask, _is it ready yet?_ Innocent. Playful. Reveling in the love he so willingly gave and received in turn. Thinking his mama’s carefree smile was the actual axis the entire planet spun on.

But he wasn’t five anymore. He was nineteen, and he was so far from innocent, the concept was almost laughable.

And Mama didn’t smile anymore. At least, not the way she used to. Not like she meant it.

“That was fun,” she said with a sigh. “I really missed you, _mijo._ Baking without you wasn’t the same.”

Lance mustered a smile that couldn’t have been convincing. “I missed you, too, Mama. But I worked so hard to get into the Garrison. You know I couldn’t turn down a scholarship.”

Verita finished patting her hands dry on a towel and extended one to cup his face. Lance leaned into the touch and found he was actually _starving_ for it. Hungry for his mama to hold and soothe him the way she used to.

“Of course you couldn’t,” she whispered. “You’ve always had such big dreams. I’m so proud of you. Have I ever told you that?”

Lance covered the hand that cradled his face with one of his own. Hers wasn’t nearly as soft as his. It was rough and age-worn. Sun spots danced across her skin in a pattern nothing short of beautiful.

“I know, Mama,” he said. “You don’t have to tell me. I know.”

Her eyes glistened. She sniffled. “Well, I’ll tell you, anyway. Over and over until I’m underground. I’m _so_ proud of you.”

Lance kept his mouth clenched shut. His vision blurred. He couldn’t find the voice nor the words with which to answer her. How could he even hope to offer a response worthy of something so soulful?

He settled on a croaked, “I love you.”

“I love you more. You’ll never know.”

Lance looked in her eyes and held her gaze. The woman who bore and raised him. The first person who ever etched love into his heart and taught him to reciprocate it. He thought of her, and of Adam and Shiro, and _Keith._

_You’ll never know._

He had a pretty good idea.


	35. this is everything you wanted to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Keith? You got quiet. Were you abducted by aliens?”
> 
> “Yes. They’re probing me as we speak.”
> 
> Adam laughed. The sound came slightly warped through Keith’s phone speaker; not quite the same as hearing it in person. It warmed his heart and calmed his nerves all the same.
> 
> “That’s my kid.”

“And that fucking asshat had the _nerve_ to tell Lance his bisexuality is ‘just a phase.’ Imagine being pissed that your kid is bi. Who fucking cares?”

Adam was a saint, honestly. Keith knew he was ranting more than talking at that point, and yet his father showed no sign of wanting to hang up. When Adam spoke, his voice was patient and calm.

“I know, son,” he said. “It’s uncommon nowadays, but homophobic people will always be out there. Or – biphobic, I suppose.”

“They shouldn’t be allowed to raise kids. I mean, I’m glad Lance is here – but that _guy_. I just...”

“Wish he’d been a deadbeat?”

Keith sighed. “That’s really shitty of me, isn’t it?”

“No,” Adam said immediately. “It isn’t. Growing up with one good parent, even when it’s a struggle, is better than an abusive parent and an abused one. I’m sure Lance would have traded growing up rich for growing up happy in a heartbeat. Wouldn’t you?”

“Yeah. I would.”

Keith’s fuel to rant was siphoned at once. The reminder of Alexander’s wealth left a sick taste in his mouth.

“Keith? You got quiet. Were you abducted by aliens?”

“Yes. They’re probing me as we speak.”

Adam laughed. The sound came slightly warped through Keith’s phone speaker; not quite the same as hearing it in person. It warmed his heart and calmed his nerves all the same.

“That’s my kid.”

Of course, Adam was joking, but the undercurrent of love and warmth was palpable. Keith would never understand how he survived the four years between his father’s death and his adoption without it. Or how Lance survived _eighteen_.

“He starved him.” The words came as a whisper. Keith didn’t mean them to be. Still, he made no effort to correct his volume. It seemed fitting. “You remember that? He was a twig. And not a healthy-ish twig like he is now. Lance… _God_ , Adam. He looked like a fucking skeleton.”

“I know.” Adam, too, spoke hushed and sad. “He ate two pancakes that first morning. I wanted to shove a whole stack down his throat. Extra butter.”

“Why would he do that to his own kid? _How?_ Why would anyone-”

Keith cut himself short when his voice cracked. It threatened to break completely. Threatened to spill all his unsightly feelings out in the open.

He realized, suddenly, how emotional the conversation had grown, and it terrified him. God only knew why. It shouldn’t. Adam was family; he would never judge Keith for his sorrow, for his tears. He would never respond with anything but love. He never had before.

“I know, son. I’m so sorry. Are you okay?”

“Doesn’t matter.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course it does.”

“This isn’t my family. I’m just along for the ride. How I _feel_ about it is irrelevant.”

The line went silent for a long moment. Then:

“Have you considered that what’s irrelevant here is the context? It’s not about whose family it is. Your feelings matter because _you_ matter.” Adam took a deep, audible breath. “I love you, Keith. I want you to be okay. That’s why it matters.”

A few tears dripped down his face. Keith sniffled, unthinking, and internally cursed himself. Adam would never have known he was crying if he’d just kept quiet.

“This is fucking me up, okay?” He snapped, voice thick. “I want to make this all go away for him and I can’t. I’m supposed to protect him. Some fucking Dom I’m turning out to be.”

“ _Hey_. You stop that right now, Keith Kogane. You’re doing a _fantastic_ job with Lance. He’s very happy with you. You’re a wonderful Dom, so knock it off.”

And, in spite of himself, Keith laughed. A watery laugh – but a laugh, nonetheless.

“Put your Dad voice away. I’m still a teenager, let me be all hormonal and shit.”

Adam sighed in relief. Keith physically felt his father’s tension drain.

“I’m just a phone call away when you need to talk. Or a drive away, when you have the time. Don’t forget that.”

He couldn’t. Adam’s love for him (and for Lance) was too constant, too persistent, to be forgotten. Adam and Shiro both had a talent for convincing him not to carry things he shouldn't. Keith felt like the weight of the world had been lifted from his shoulders.

“I won’t forget.”

“Good.”


	36. so give up, give up, feed your hate to me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Watch it, busy bee."
> 
> She had her feet kicked up on the table, ankles crossed and arms folded over her chest. When he met her eyes, she casually popped the pink gum bubble attached to her mouth.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YYEEEEEET PLEASE MEET MY EDGY DAUGHTER
> 
> approach with caution,,,,she bites

Lance yawned as he shuffled up the stairs of the lecture hall toward the doors. He allowed his eyes to flutter closed for the briefest of moments.

That was his first mistake.

His eyes were wide open again, yawn lost, when his foot caught on something. Lance stumbled and just barely managed to keep his balance. A few other students shot amused looks his way. One boy looked disappointed he hadn’t gotten to watch someone faceplant. Heat rushed to Lance’s cheeks.

That was what he got for lying awake, eyes locked on the ceiling and thoughts in a tangle, when he should have been asleep like his mate.

“Watch it, busy bee.”

The thing he tripped on turned out to be a messenger bag, crumpled against the leg of a chair. In the chair sat the same ferocious Dom who’d coaxed him into signing her petition a few days before.

She had her feet kicked up on the table, ankles crossed and arms folded over her chest. When he met her eyes, she casually popped the pink gum bubble attached to her mouth. The sound it made was minimal. Lance still flinched.

“Oh,” he said weakly. “Uh – sorry. I wasn’t...I’m not-”

“Chill. I’m just messing with you.”

Lance blinked. “Oh.”

“Is that all you know how to say?”

Was she ‘just messing’ with him again? Lance couldn’t tell. Her face was a blank slate.

“No,” Lance said in a way that would have made Adam suggest he had his ‘feathers ruffled.’ “I just-”

“Stop staring at me.” The girl arched one brow. “Unless you want me to put on a show and _give_ you something to stare at.”

As if it were possible for his face to grow any redder.

Lance tripped on his words the same way he tripped over her bag. “I – I’m, uh – claimed. A Dom. I mean, _I’m_ not a Dom. I, uh, _have_ a Dom.”

Her brow quirked even higher. A smirk twisted her lips.

“I don’t see how that’s relevant,” she said. “Are you offering to share?”

“Wha – _no!_ ”

His sputtered irritation was out in open air seconds before the implication of her words sank in.

This Dom wanted him to...share his Dom? Freaky.

“Well?” The girl shrugged. “Reached your speech quota for the day? Or the end of your vocabulary, maybe?”

Lance stared. “ _Rude_.”

“Oh, look! A new word. You’ve got to have, like – what, a whole _thirty_ now, right?”

Annoyance stirred in the depths of his mind. It wasn’t something Lance felt often, but in that moment – hell, could you blame him?

“What is your _damage_ , lady?” Lance asked, incredulous and a little higher in pitch than he’d intended. “I don’t even know you. Leave me alone.”

“Nobody’s keeping you here.” She jerked her head toward the exit. “There’s the door. Bye.”

Her invitation for Lance to leave was precisely what made him _not_ want to leave. He crossed his arms, straightened his spine, and raised his head high.

“No,” he said. “I’m a student here, too. I have just as much right to be here as you do.”

“Oh, so you do want a show.”

“ _No!_ ”

“Ah, I see. It’s the other thing. Threesome? I’m down. Are they cute? Sure hope you’re not the jealous type.”

“Stop that! What kind of Dom wants to get freaky with another Dom? Who messed you _up?_ ”

The girl’s smirk grew. It twitched at the corners as she tried to fend it off. Her torso shook a little.

After a moment, laughter burst from her mouth, obnoxiously loud. She doubled over in her seat. Stereotypical Dom behavior. Lance took the opportunity to thank whatever deity might have been listening for Keith, the most absurdly non-stereotypical Dom to ever exist. Except for Adam, maybe.

When the girl next spoke, it wasn’t much like speech at all. She practically roared the words. “Holy shit, that’s rich! I swear to fuck-on-a-stick, this is the greatest day of my life.”

“Why are you laughing? There’s nothing funny about this. You’re out of your mind.”

Lance would later find himself immensely grateful everyone else, professor included, had already trickled from the room. The moment would go down in personal history as one of those mortifying things his mind brought up at random, just to torture him.

When the girl had control of herself again, she held his gaze. A grin overwhelmed her face.

“I’m a _sub_ , busy bee. Flattered you thought I was a Dom, though. Guess I just have an aura of power.”

And, honestly – _wow_. Lance never thought he’d be the type to make assumptions of one’s biological status based on their personality. He should have known better than anyone. That was pretty bad, wasn’t it?

“Well.” He sighed. “Guess now’s a good time to introduce myself. Hi – I’m an absolute idiot.”

The girl’s laughter faded to faint chuckles. She swiped her fingers under her eyes to remove tears of mirth.

“Hey, absolute idiot.” She swung her feet off the table and used the motion to propel herself into a standing position. A hand was offered to him. Lance took it. “Nevaeh. Call me _Nev_ and I’ll slit your throat.”

Nevaeh’s words were light, but her handshake was firm. Almost crushing. He gulped and nodded.

“Noted. And, uh – Lance, actually. Lance McClain.”

“Pleasure to meet you, busy bee.”

Lance decided to let that one slide. Busy bee wasn’t such a bad nickname when the person wielding it was terrifying enough to strike fear into the heart of God.

He cleared his throat. “I pretended to be a Dom once. In high school. Didn’t last long, but I had everyone fooled for a good few weeks.”

Nevaeh’s smirk transformed into a full-fledged smile. She flashed her piranha teeth.

“I _like_ you.”

The door opened. Keith took a hesitant step inside. His eyebrows were drawn together, lips turned into a frown. Violet eyes darted almost frantically around the lecture hall before landing on the two of them. At once, Lance was flooded with the very familiar guilt of disobedience.

He was supposed to meet Keith by the fountain right after class. Their routine. The routine he’d broken without warning. Lance had lingered around, chatting it up with a classmate, while Keith waited and worried. He wondered how many desperate texts and missed calls from his Dom he would find the next time he looked at his phone.

“Keith,” he said, eyes wide. “Oh, my God. _Babe_. I’m so sorry. I didn’t even-”

He was cut off by a physical impact. Keith took the steps two at a time and flung strong arms around him. Lance melted into the embrace without hesitation, letting Keith hold him close. Anything to make his Dom feel better; anything he needed. Lance was the one who’d caused his distress, after all.

_Selfish. Stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid._

“You’re safe,” Keith said. “That’s what matters.”

“I wasn’t even thinking. I should have texted you. I’m sorry, baby.”

Over Keith’s shoulder, Lance caught Nevaeh’s eye. The look on her face took him by surprise.

Considering how adamant she was that a proven rapist be expelled – _rightfully_ adamant – Lance would have thought Keith’s concern would please her. That seeing Lance had a Dom so worried for his safety with said rapist still loose on campus would let her meet Keith at his best. That she would approve.

The look on her face was far from one of approval. She didn’t spare Lance another nanosecond of attention. Nevaeh glared at the back of Keith’s head as if she could burn two holes right through his brain. When the couple pulled apart and Keith met her eyes, her distrust seemed to grow tenfold.

“Now, _you?”_ Nevaeh’s voice was low and icy. “You, I don’t like as much.”

Keith snatched Lance’s hand. He didn’t shrink under her gaze for a second. “Get in line, lady.”

The Dom turned and marched up the steps, pulling Lance along behind him. Lance looked back over his shoulder.

“See you later!” He called out in hopes of being friendly.

Nevaeh didn’t respond. If Lance didn’t know any better, he would have said the expression that stared back at him was one of pity.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YYEEEEEET WHAT DO Y'ALL THINK OF MY EDGY DAUGHTER


	37. look at you now, another face in the crowd (i am the headline)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey!” Keith marched toward the doorway. A growl curled his tongue without his permission. “What the fuck are you doing? Get away from her!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there is a Spanish sentence in this chapter,,,it's probably butchered. i'm sorry. online auto translators are untrustworthy as fuck but they're what I've got
> 
> anyway YEET this is a longer one, enjoy!

Lance nuzzled against his shoulder with closed eyes and a soft whine. Hot breath and gentle kisses took turns dancing across the halfway-exposed flesh of Keith’s collarbone.

Veronica smirked from the other couch. Rachel, as big a flirt as she was, blushed at the mildly intimate sight.

Rachel, Keith had decided, was definitely the sister most similar to Lance, both in appearance and personality. She might as well have been his female, Dom clone. They said they weren’t twins, but they could have fucking fooled him.

“Get a room,” Veronica said. Lance peeked a single eye open to glare at her. “I love you, brother dearest, but seriously. That lovey-dovey shit makes me sick.”

“Not me!” Rachel chirped, eyes wide. “I think they’re cute.”

“They’re a suitably compatible pair for the mating rituals that are, unfortunately, necessary to human health and longevity.” Veronica reached into the bowl on the coffee table and crunched on a chip. “I’ll weep for my youth the day I can no longer put off claiming a man.”

Rachel stared. “How many times did Mama and Papi drop you on your head?”

“It was Luis, actually. I was an hour old, and he was pissed he didn’t get a second baby brother. Kind of presumptious, really. I could have been trans for all that little fucker knew.”

Rachel flashed Lance a bright smile. “Well, that puts my vague memories of _your_ birth into context.”

Lance sat up straight. He tilted his head, puzzled. Keith tried not to feel disappointed at the loss of skin contact.

“How so?” Lance asked.

“Papi put you in my arms really slow, and he was cringing the whole time. He said something like, ‘ _Oh, Dios, no tires a tu hermanito.’_ ”

Keith had no fucking idea what that meant, but the other three burst into laughter, so he figured it was safe to assume ‘Papi’ said something knee-slapping hilarious. He was surprised Lance laughed at all. Keith’s shoulders tensed against his will the instant Alexander was mentioned, and he feared his sub might have a similar reaction. Lance didn’t.

Somehow, miraculously, Lance wasn’t shocked to hear a pleasant memory involving his father and himself. Keith wondered how many more of those moments there were. How many Lance actually remembered and how many had to be retold to him.

He wondered when it all changed. How it turned into – _this._

And oh, _fuck_ , of course. Naturally. Just his luck that Alexander’s voice would drift down the hall and through the open door of the ‘ground floor lounge’ right as Keith began to think of what a shitbag he was. As if Keith’s thoughts themselves summoned him.

The universe got its sick kicks messing with him like that. Why the hell not, right? Not like he was entirely helpless to defend himself against the omnipotence of fucking existence itself or anything.

Alexander’s voice wasn’t the only one. Verita was in the hall with him. They spoke in hushed tones.

Rachel snapped her jaw shut. Veronica crossed her arms and stared at her lap. Both girls seemed to make themselves small; they sank into the cushions. Keith really did hold sympathy for the two of them, stuck in the same house as _him_ , unable to get away. Mostly because he knew how they felt.

They weren’t his primary concern, though. Keith was much more hurt by the way Lance – his obnoxious, petulant, all-boy _Lance_ – curled into his side. He pressed his face into Keith’s neck once again.

This time, there was no romance, no nuzzles or purrs, no kisses. There was fear. It rolled off his sub in waves. Lance was scared.

When the two voices grew close enough for the content of their conversation to be deciphered, Keith’s blood ran cold. Of course _those_ would be the first words they heard from Alexander all day. He shouldn’t have expected any better.

“I don’t want that fag in my house. Don’t argue with me, Verita. _End_ of discussion.”

His tone was firm, but he didn’t sound angry. Nevertheless, Verita’s voice shook as she tried to persuade him.

“We don’t even know him. He could be a lovely boy. Do you want to kick your son out, too?”

“If he wants to stay with his little friend so bad? Yes. He wants to pretend he’s gay, he can do it somewhere else.” Alexander paused. “This is probably bad for my health, you know. All this stress.”

As if the manipulative words weren’t enough to set flames of fury alight in his veins, Keith then caught sight of the older couple as they passed the doorway. Except they didn’t walk side by side, or even one in front of the other.

Verita backed away from her Dom one slow, trembling step at a time. Alexander advanced. For every stride she took backwards, he took one forward in equal measure. A predator playing deadly games with his prey. He lifted a hand in silent threat.

The three McClain siblings remained motionless. They must have learned over the years that it was in their best interest not to intervene. Their muscles were all wrought tight. Everyone waited for the pounce.

Everyone except Keith.

Like fucking _hell_ would he chill on the couch and watch while an innocent sub was abused.

Lance was practically glued to his side. Ripping himself away was painful. Lance gasped in surprise, then whimpered at the loss. Finally, when he caught onto his Dom’s intentions: “ _Keith!_ Stop!”

The panic in his voice shook Keith to the core. He went, anyway. _Somebody_ had to.

“ _Hey!_ ” Keith marched toward the doorway. A growl curled his tongue without his permission. “What the fuck are you doing? Get away from her!”

The two froze like deer in headlights. They both looked at him with wide eyes, but each set was so vastly different. Verita’s swirled with shock and dread. Alexander was only indignant.

“Don’t tell me what to do with my own sub, kid,” Alexander said. He didn’t raise his voice to match Keith’s. He was calm as ever; a cross between annoyance and amusement. “I’ve been in a claim a hell of a lot longer than you have.”

“Then you should know you’re supposed to make your sub feel _safe_ ,” Keith snapped. “Not fucking hunt her down the hall like some rabid animal.”

Anxiety rose in his throat. It pounded with his pulse and tightened his airway. He was no stranger to domestic violence. To get so close to seeing it perpetrated again – _well_. Keith suddenly understood how Lance felt when he stumbled upon one of his triggers.

But he took one look at Verita’s face, and bravery like he’d never known overwhelmed him. Instinct won out over fear. Keith forcibly pushed himself between the couple. Verita stood safe behind his back, and –

Alexander’s face was right there, looming a few inches above his. Every little twitch of his nose and calculating movement of bloodshot eyes was visible.

There was no anger. Almost no _reaction_. He spoke level and relaxed. “You’ve got balls, kid, you know that? Give me one reason I shouldn’t have you escorted from my property.”

Keith took a deep breath.

“Because if you do, Lance is going with me – and he _won’t_ be back.”

That seemed to strike a nerve. The man faltered. A flash of some emotion or another was there and gone too quickly for Keith to identify it. Alexander glanced over the shorter Dom’s shoulder at Verita, still frozen in place, then back at Keith.

Keith. His totally straight son’s super homo Dom. The _fag._

“Alright,” Alexander said slowly, carefully. “Verita – go get started on dinner.”

Keith’s shoulders slumped in relief. He looked behind him. Verita gave her Dom an eager nod and started down the hall.

She made it a mere few steps before Alexander tacked on:

“This kid can’t stay here forever. Finish your work quickly, _puta._ I’ll have my way with you later.”

Keith saw red.

It wasn’t _entirely_ true that he didn’t speak a word of Spanish. He knew a few select terms and phrases.

Specifically, he knew the ones Lance muttered and sobbed when, once in a blue moon, he had a more severe panic attack. When traumatic memories overwhelmed him, and he clawed at his own skin and called himself horrible, derogatory things.

_Puta._

Bitch. Whore. Slut.

Alexander was supposed to regard Verita as his most prized possession. He was supposed to protect her – with his life, if necessary.

Instead, he chased her down the halls as a lion to a wounded gazelle, promised to take what he wanted when he wanted it, and called her _slut._

His fists were moving before he could stop them, flying through the air, then –

Caught. His wrists were held in two tight grips. Not by Alexander; the older Dom stumbled back a few steps as soon as Keith’s intent was made clear.

Lance stood in front of him. His face was the epitome of terror. His fingers trembled where they wrapped around Keith’s forearms. Keith forced himself to unfurl his fists in the hopes that he would be released. No such thing happened.

“Keith,” Lance whispered. “ _Please_. Stop.”

Well, _fuck_. How the hell was he supposed to say no to that?

The answer was simple: he couldn’t. When he didn’t respond, his sub’s pouted bottom lip wobbled precariously, and ocean eyes glistened. Keith found himself powerless against the theatrics.

And they _were_ theatrics, without a doubt. A more innocent form of methodical manipulation.

Goddamn it, theatrics _worked_ on him. A sharp pain cut through his chest at the sight. To be stabbed through the heart with the bluntest butter knife would hurt less.

“I’m sorry.” Keith’s pulse pounded in his ears. His own voice sounded distant, muffled. “I’m so sorry, sweetheart. I don’t know what I was thinking.”

That wasn’t the truth – he knew exactly what he was thinking – but the truth wasn’t the point. The point was to wipe that unacceptable sorrow off his sub’s face as soon as possible. Lance was the point. Lance was his top priority.

Verita _should_ have been Alexander’s.

But she wasn’t.

Lance gave him a once-over with wary eyes. “You sure you’re good?”

The distrust in his self-control stung a little. Keith pretended it didn’t.

“I’m good. I swear.”

Lance released his wrists. Keith shook them out at his sides.

“There – there really was no need for all that,” Verita said.

Keith looked at her, standing with her silent, desperate plea. _Please, for the love of God, don’t make it worse._

Alexander’s smugness was a stark contrast.

Lance should have let him do it. Let him punch the man’s fucking face in. God knew he deserved as much.

“Yeah,” Keith told her. “There really was. Come on, Lance. We’re going home.”


	38. look in my eyes and read between the lines

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Needless to say, all the Thursday afternoon drama made for a very...interesting Friday night dinner at the McClain estate.
> 
> And by interesting, Lance meant hellish.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! I just wanted to let you know that I AM planning on picking up the updating speed so we can get through this story and onto hlp 3 faster; I plan to soon begin uploading 3 chapters a day. thank you for your patience!

Needless to say, all the Thursday afternoon drama made for a very... _interesting_ Friday night dinner at the McClain estate.

And by _interesting_ , Lance meant hellish. Absurdly hellish. Hellish with a side of torture for dipping.

He couldn’t just tell Mama _no_. They’d planned to stay for dinner on Thursday before everything went down. He had to make up the lost time. Lance owed her as much.

He wondered if the awkward silence around the table, filled only by the scraping of silverware against fine dinner plates, would have happened even if Keith and Alexander hadn’t nearly gotten into a schoolyard-style fist fight. Probably not, the more he thought about it. Under normal circumstances, Alexander would never let a silence go unfilled when he could easily fill it with talk of himself.

Friday night was not a normal circumstance. His father couldn’t boast of his latest, meager accomplishments. He was too busy engaging Keith in a full-blown staring competition.

Both Doms took their game – because that’s what it was, a _game_ – with all the seriousness in the world. Their expressions were rife with anger. Lance sighed as he tried, and failed, to get his mate’s attention for the fourth time in ten minutes.

And Keith called _him_ petulant.

At the head of the table, Alexander interrupted the streak of silence to ask in monotone if Keith could please pass the corn. 

Keith did. Without _once_ breaking eye contact. Corn was sloshed over the table in the process. A triumphant snarl twisted Keith’s lips when he finally managed to pass the bowl on. He took a bite of his filet mignon with some difficulty; the fork missed his mouth the first few tries. Alexander had realized eating without proper utilization of his eyesight was a task not worth undertaking, and his dinner sat one-fourth eaten and abandoned in front of him.

Yes. _Lance_ was the child in the room. That made perfect sense. 

Mama cleared her throat at one point and asked, “How is school, boys?”

“Yeah, thanks.” Keith didn’t so much as spare Verita a glance. Lance made an indignant little noise and nudged his Dom in hopes of eliciting some manners. Keith nudged him back.

“I apologize for him.” Lance shot his mate a _Look_. Keith didn’t even notice. “We’re both doing well. Thank you for asking.”

That earned him a genuine smile. Butterflies rustled in his stomach at the sight. Mama had smiled a lot in the past few days – it seemed like she was always smiling, in fact. But rarely were they _real._

“Glad to see you haven’t lost your table manners, _mijo_. Very good.”

Rachel copped a huffy attitude that seemed like it was only half-joking when Verita scolded her elbows down from the table. Veronica caught Lance’s eye with a fond shake of her head and a grin.

In spirit of the lighter mood those of them who _weren’t_ playing a silent game of war enjoyed, Lance opened his mouth to ask Mama a joking question. After a second, he thought better of it and pressed his lips back together. 

The words on the tip of his tongue were, _can you run Keith through a crash course on dinner etiquette? He kind of literally grew up in a shack._

It was true. It was funny. It would make his mother and sisters laugh. Keith would halfheartedly scold him for the jab later, even as he fought off his own little smirk. All in all, it would be a very _Lance-esque_ move. 

Alexander, though.

Just because he wasn’t looking at the family didn’t mean he couldn’t hear them, didn’t mean he wasn’t paying attention. He was surely keeping tabs all the while.

The last thing Keith needed was for Alexander to hear Lance badmouthing him. Even in their typical, love-filled, harmless games of teasing. Any person in their right mind would take his and Keith’s banter at face value. The two of them wouldn’t, after all, cuddle up close, kiss, and hold one another’s hands while they mercilessly roasted each other if they truly meant it.

Alexander was – decidedly _not_ in his right mind.

And not just because of the tumor. He’d always been this way, for almost as long as Lance could remember. Perhaps he’d never possessed a right mind to begin with.

Such a comment would, to Alexander, do something along the lines of confirming Lance really _wasn’t_ bi, and didn’t love Keith as deeply as he claimed to.

So, no. He would have to keep all his Lancey-ness contained while his father was around. It absolutely killed him that his newfound freedom to express himself was once again being stifled. Lance had the urge to dig his heels into the ground, stubborn, and cling to himself with both hands. To cinch fingernails into his silly, unimportant jokes and call dibs.

He didn’t.

For Keith – to spare his lover, to whatever extent possible, from the skillful manipulation that had so thoroughly screwed Lance up over the years – for Keith, he kept his (hilarious and underappreciated, really) mouth shut.

That was harder than he thought it would be because, _Christ_ , Keith really was a caveman, wasn’t he? An adorable caveman. A sugar-sweet caveman. But a shack-dwelling, mullet-sporting, finger-food-eating caveman, nonetheless. 

“Don’t slouch, _mijo_ ,” Verita scolded mildly. Lance scrambled to fix a poster he hadn’t realized was slipping, and flashed her a sheepish smile. Her eyes brightened a little.

At least some of the better aspects of their family remained unchanged.

Keith scooped the corn he’d dropped on the table earlier up with his fingers and plopped it onto his plate. His eye contact remained steadfast, as did Alexander’s. They were going strong on the verge of twenty minutes. For...absolutely _no_ reason. Like, none. At all.

Lance heaved a sigh.

Yep. His childish, reckless, mannerless caveman.

(He wouldn’t have it any other way.)


	39. welcome to our stomping grounds where the kids throw down and the shit gets loud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith might have gotten a little carried away.
> 
> Lance sighed and rolled his eyes for the entirety of dinner, but he just didn’t understand. Keith was doing this for him. A staring content to end all staring contests, which Keith would win to prove his devotion. A duel in defense of his love’s honor.
> 
> ...fine. He got more than just a little carried away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i love how y'all are looking at the last chapter going "aww what a cute filler chapter :)"
> 
> meanwhile i'm over here CACKLING
> 
> u have no idea,,,the angst seed that chapter just planted. you poor souls...

Keith might have gotten a little carried away.

It wasn’t his fault, though. Alexander glared daggers into his skull the instant he and Lance arrived on Friday evening. He couldn’t even be bothered to give his son a proper greeting, busy as he was making sure Keith knew his presence was unwanted.

And _that_ – the blatant disregard for Lance and his feelings – infuriated him more than anything. So Keith responded the only way he knew how to without being shoveled off the premises in a police cruiser: he glared back.

And it – maybe, kind of – turned into a bit of a _thing_. They never said as much aloud, but they didn’t need to. Their war for two commenced in utter silence.

Lance sighed and rolled his eyes for the entirety of dinner, but he just didn’t _understand_. Keith was doing this for him. A staring content to end all staring contests, which Keith would win to prove his devotion. A duel in defense of his love’s honor.

... _fine_. He got more than just a little carried away. His point still stood.

The bad news: Keith didn’t win. The good news: neither did Alexander.

He should have known something was up when he heard Lance begin to converse with the other two McClain siblings in a whisper. He and Alexander broke eye contact simultaneously when a dish shattered somewhere behind the table. Keith turned on instinct. His only comfort was that Alexander did, too.

Rachel stood with her hands on her hips and the shards of a ruined dinner plate at her feet. She looked far too smug.

“Told you that would work,” she said to Lance.

Verita sighed the kind of sigh only a mother of five could master. “Rachel...”

“What? It’s not my fault they weren’t listening!”

“You couldn’t have found a less destructive way to get their attention?”

“That was more fun,” Veronica said with a smirk. Lance nodded along in earnest agreement.

Keith couldn’t bring himself to be disappointed at the unsatisfactory ending to their game. Alexander was quick to reapply his diplomatic mask and suggest they all _retire to the lounge_ or some rich-dude shit like that, but his mortified anger was still plain to see. It shone through the cracks in his mask – cracks he didn’t seem to be aware existed. That made Lance’s mutters of _claimed by a child, I swear_ as they rose from the table more than worth it.

“Let me mess with him,” Keith murmured low in Lance’s ear as the sub linked elbows with his offered arm. A devious grin twisted Keith’s lips, and he made no attempt to hide it. “It’s fun.”

Lanced rolled his eyes. “A _child_ , Keith.”

 _Retiring to the lounge_ apparently just meant sitting on the couch with glasses of crazy fucking expensive wine. Keith eyed Alexander as he uncorked the bottle and began to pour.

“Are you supposed to be giving three underage kids wine?” He asked.

Not that he had a problem with free alcohol. He definitely didn’t. Keith accepted a portion just as readily as Lance and Rachel.

The facade of calm indifference was back in full gear. Alexander settled on the couch with a simple shrug.

“Lance has been having a drink with us after dinner since he turned fifteen.” He raised his glass toward the youngest McClain son in gesture. Lance made a point of keeping his gaze averted. “I don’t see what the big deal is. You’re drinking it, aren’t you?”

Keith took a slow slip. “I’m young and impressionable.”

Alexander snorted, but not in a _haha that was funny_ way. More like in a _not buying your bullshit_ way.

Lance stiffened. His arm grew tense where it brushed against Keith’s, but he said nothing. Keith soon discovered why that sound from his father caused such an automatic, negative reaction.

“In that case,” Alexander said, showcasing a level of glee Keith was neither prepared for nor appreciative of. “Why don’t I chaperon your next date with my son? If you’re so impressionable, I’d say you need a grown-up nearby for supervision. Wouldn’t you?”

Lance reacted so strongly because that sound was the one Alexander made before he began to twist your arm in a bout of pure manipulation.

Keith Kogane was not an easy person to manipulate. That asshole was going to learn as much real goddamn quick.

“Cute,” Keith said.

Alexander tilted his head, amused. “What’s cute?”

“That you think I’d let you within a two foot radius of my sub.”

The words were not only a solid ‘no’ to his chaperoning proposition. They were an accusation, and everyone knew it. Because Alexander _hadn’t_ been within a two-foot radius of his son since they’d reconnected. No hugs. No pats on the back. Not even so much as a firm handshake.

But after seeing the way he’d treated Verita the day before, Keith hardly had any complaints about the physical distance. He doubted Lance did, either.

Alexander hummed and swirled his glass. “You know what I think is cute?”

“And what would that be?”

“That you think I’m giving you a choice.”

Veronica downed her drink in a single gulp.

Lance curled into Keith, face pressed against his shoulder. The deep red liquid in the sub’s glass shook from the tremor in his hand.

Game. Fucking. _On._

Keith looked at Alexander, eyes ablaze and jaw tight.

“Funny you’d mention our next date, actually…”


	40. this is an invitation to get the fuck out if you can't take it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance looked back toward the corner where his father stood. His jaw tightened. Without warning, he took one of the shots and downed it, his only reaction a grimace as apple-flavored whiskey burned his throat.
> 
> “We’re staying,” he said with finality.
> 
> Keith stared, slack-jawed. “I have never been more in love with you than I am right now.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUESS WHAT? Y'ALL GET 3 CHAPTERS TODAY YEEET

Lance scowled as he pressed closer to Keith’s side. Wary eyes scanned the room. When he spoke, Keith had to strain his ears to hear him over the bass that thumped in their bones.

“I can’t believe you told him we were going clubbing as a _date_.”

Keith smirked. “What, isn’t that how us youngsters are doing it nowadays?”

“You’re insufferable.”

“Yeah, that’s not news.”

A big-busted girl brushed past them in the crowd. Specifically, she brushed against Lance, offering a flirtatious smile and a wave as she went. The sub’s ears flushed a deep red.

“How did you even get us fake IDs in a day?” He lifted Keith’s arm and wrapped it around his own shoulders. Probably to send a clear message that he was taken, thank you very much. Keith had no complaints.

“I know a guy.”

“I’d really like to know who this guy is, getting us last-minute reservations and IDs.”

“Alright, fine. I work part-time for the mafia.”

“Keith! I’m serious. Who and how?”

“You want to know who the guy is?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“It’s Shiro.”

Lance blinked. “...excuse me?”

“You’d be surprised how many people are willing to expedite things for the child of one of the Kerberos Three.”

Lance stared blankly at him for another moment. Then his face broke out into a laugh, wondrous disbelief in his eyes. It was infectious; Keith grinned, too.

“I-” Lance sputtered. “I can’t believe you’re using his name to get cool stuff. He’s gonna be so pissed when he gets home.”

“Who said I’m ever going to tell him? Besides...” Keith nodded toward the entrance they’d just walked through. “This one’s going to be more than worth it.”

In a corner near the entrance of the small club, Alexander stood stiff and solemn. He’d taken one glance at the atmosphere of the place before deciding he would chaperon from afar. He looked fucking ridiculous standing there in his suit and tie, surrounded by young adults in skimpy clothing. Keith had to give it to him: the man had a goddamn resolve of steel.

Lance followed Keith’s gaze. His smile faltered only for a moment.

“Oh.” The sub turned back toward him with a pout. “So the dinner date wasn’t worth it? I thought our wall sex was pretty hot.”

Keith groaned. “Oh, God. Don’t do that to me here. The bathrooms are probably fucking disgusting.”

The pout morphed into a smile. Lance leaned in to kiss his cheek.

“Just don’t tell Pidge how much power she holds because of Sam and Matt.” Lance shuddered. “She would try to take over the world. And succeed, probably.”

“Duly noted.”

Lance’s light mood didn’t last long. It faded as they leaned against the bar. He shot Keith an incredulous look at his order.

“Six?” He asked sharply. “Please don’t tell me you’re expecting me to take shots with you.”

Keith’s confidence faltered. He had a plan to beat Alexander at his own game – but if he made Lance uncomfortable in the process, it absolutely wasn’t worth it.

“We can always go home, if you want,” he offered. “Tell your dad this place just isn’t crazy enough for us or something.”

The bartender returned with a tray bearing six mini glasses of amber liquid. Lance looked back toward the corner where his father stood. His jaw tightened. Without warning, he took one of the shots and downed it, his only reaction a grimace as apple-flavored whiskey burned his throat.

“We’re staying,” he said with finality.

Keith stared, slack-jawed. “I have never been more in love with you than I am right now.”

The giggle that earned him was the first of many that night.


	41. you can say what you want, you'll never be me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The plan went off without a hitch. More or less.
> 
> Truth be told? Lance’s stumbling feet and uncontrollable, hysterical giggling were key elements of said plan. Which...sounded pretty horrible out of context. But there was a genuine point to it.
> 
> And Keith was – maybe, perhaps – a tad bit tipsy himself.

The plan went off without a hitch. More or less.

Truth be told? Lance’s stumbling feet and uncontrollable, hysterical giggling were key elements of said plan. Which...sounded pretty horrible out of context. But there was a genuine point to it.

And Keith was – maybe, _perhaps_ – a tad bit tipsy himself.

Alexander stood in the same place the couple had left him. When they approached, Lance holding onto Keith to keep himself somewhat upright, the man’s eyes grew comically wide. Comically as in Keith laughed aloud at the sight.

Lance responded by giggling again into the crook of his neck. Probably not because he had any clue what was going on. Just because he could.

Alexander opened his mouth. No words came out.

“What?” Keith asked with a grin. “Told you we were goin’ clubbing. I mean – you don’t have a problem with kids drinking, right?”

Finally, Alexander seemed to find his bearings. He sputtered. “This is _not_ the same thing. You know it isn’t.”

“’Course it is. Underage teenagers and alcohol. It’s the exact same thing.”

“And what’s to stop me from calling the authorities right now, hm? Telling them you’ve got a couple of fake IDs in your back pocket?”

Keith shrugged. “What’s to stop me from telling them you’ve been giving your young, impressionable, submissive son alcohol almost every night since he was fifteen years old? You taught him this is okay. He doesn’t know any better.”

“What about you?”

“Foster kid. Pity card.”

The man’s jaw twitched. Fury blazed in his eyes.

He was powerless, and they both knew it.

Much to Keith’s amusement – and Alexander’s blatant disgust – Lance chose this exact moment to press wet, open-mouthed kisses to his Dom’s neck. And moan as he did so.

“’S go home,” Lance whined in his ear. “ _Want_ you, baby.”

If Alexander didn’t already look like he was about to keel over from a heart attack, he sure as hell did then. Who could blame him? He had to watch, standing in the middle of a club, as his totally straight son gave a fag Dom hickeys and begged for drunken sex. It was enough to send any poor old homophobe into an epileptic fit.

Unfortunately, Alexander didn’t fall to the floor and begin seizing. He seemed to have once again lost his ability to form coherent words.

Of course, Keith had no intention of having sex with his heavily intoxicated sub. But did Alexander need to know that?

No. He absolutely did not.

“Of course, sweetheart.” Keith turned to nuzzle his nose into the hairline just above Lance’s ear. Out of his peripheral vision, Alexander’s face churned with extreme discomfort. _Good._ “We’re gonna go home right now. Say bye to your dad.”

Lance didn’t so much as spare Alexander a glance. His eyes remained closed. He parted his lips from Keith’s neck just briefly enough to mutter a halfhearted, “Bye.”

It was a shame Alexander didn’t combust on the spot – but that look of speechless rage on his face? Almost as good.

Almost.


	42. if you wanna come get it you know where i'll be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, maybe the game the two of them played was childish. Maybe Keith could have proved himself the bigger person and the better Dom if he took the high road, if he chose not to play.
> 
> But, fuck, did it feel good to win.

Lance leaned onto Keith’s shoulder with a groan. The sub winced when the ice pack pressed to his left temple was jostled in the process.

“I can’t believe you let me get blackout wasted in front of my _father_.” The words were biting, but the edge of their effect was dulled by the way he nuzzled into his Dom.

Keith smirked. “Technically, I didn’t let you get _blackout_ wasted. You were very much conscious.”

“Conscious enough to ask you for sex right in front of him.”

Veronica, resting on the other couch with her feet up on the coffee table, roared in laughter. “Oh, my _God!_ Did you seriously? Did he have a stroke? Please tell me he blushed.”

“I have no idea.” Lance lifted the ice pack to glare at her. And, sure, Alexander might not have blushed, but the red that spread across Lance’s face now more than made up for it. “I don’t remember a whole lot. I was intoxicated.”

“ _Heavily_ intoxicated,” Keith said.

Lance turned the glare on him. “Yes, babe. Thank you for the input.”

“You’re so very welcome, Mister Whiskey.”

Veronica and Lance took no time at all to fall into a very sibling-esque bicker about whether or not she was allowed to refer to him as _Mister Whiskey_ and nothing else from that point forward. Keith paid them no mind. The shadowy figure propped in the doorway made a silent demand for his attention. He didn’t resist.

Alexander watched. Keith had to wonder how often the man did that. How often he stood in the background and observed his family from afar, and how often he did so without their knowledge. Was he scouting out their latest weaknesses for manipulative purposes? Perhaps he strained his ears and listened close for secrets – or, as he likely considered them, blackmail.

Today, though, Alexander’s eyes were not on his children. They were on Keith. To be specific, his gaze settled on Keith’s neck, where the purple-bruised evidence of Lance’s lovebites stood out against pale skin.

The look the older Dom wore was more readable than Keith was used to. Likely because he failed to realize he, too, was being observed. An unexpected emotion crossed Alexander’s face. Ice-cold shock burst through Keith’s veins at the sight.

Regret.

Keith liked to think it was regret, at least. He couldn’t imagine what else it might be.

It was gone in a matter of seconds. As soon as Alexander looked up and caught Keith’s eye, his face went stony again.

Keith had no sympathy. If Alexander’s regret was serious, his behavior would have changed already. This was merely an echo of human emotion that a very inhumane man had purged himself of long ago.

So Keith’s behavior didn’t change, either. It had no reason to. He held Alexander’s eyes, smirked, and winked.

Yeah, maybe the game the two of them played was childish. Maybe Keith could have proved himself the bigger person and the better Dom if he took the high road, if he chose not to play.

But, _fuck_ , did it feel good to win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and thus we reach the end of act 3! expect the first 3 chapters of act 4 tomorrow! thank you, my loves!


	43. [IV] all alone in a wall-less prison

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “And that’s why you should never give me a baseball bat.”

**ACT FOUR: HATED**

**(chapters 43-45)**

 

* * *

 

["Hated" - Beartooth](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z0ao8FCW-Qk)

 

* * *

 

"I've learned that people will forget what you said, people will forget what you did, but people will never forget how you made them feel." - Maya Angelou

 

* * *

 

Keith laughed too hard to make any sound, breathless and red-faced. He slowly sank lower in a half-backed stool at the breakfast bar, hand covering his eyes. Lance’s own cheeks hurt from grinning.

“And _that’s_ why you should never give me a baseball bat.” He finished the story with a flourish. It was certainly not one to be proud of. He crossed his arms and held his head high and smug, anyway.

Retelling it in a way that made his typically stoic Dom break down in belly-aching laughter – _that_ was the origin of his pride. Even his mama wore a small smile, looking at the pair with bright eyes as she rolled her homemade bread dough out on the counter.

“Best part is,” she said, “They still let him take home the trophy.”

“Oh, God.” Keith coughed a few times as he gasped for breath. “You cracked your coach’s nuts and they still gave you the team trophy?”

“Of course!” Lance stared with wide eyes, falsely incredulous. “It was _my_ home run! And I was four, dude. I didn’t know any better.”

“Didn’t know any better than to whack your coach in the balls. Oh, God, Lance.”

Lance turned his smile on Mama. She raised an expectant eyebrow. Seeing Lance with his very first hangover a few hours before had put her in a rather humorous mood. Not that Lance particularly appreciated being the object of others’ amusement and teasing – but Mama smiled at him today, bright and true, without a hint of bitter to the sweetness. He couldn’t bring himself to complain.

“Do we still have that trophy?” Lance bounced in his seat, eager to share a token of the earlier, happier years of his childhood with Keith. “Did we save it? Please tell me we took it with us when we left Cuba.”

At once, Mama’s smile faded. Her bottom lip trembled a little, and she turned away in refusal of meeting his eyes. Lance’s heart suddenly weighed a thousand pounds. It dropped into his stomach and made it churn.

“Mama?” He asked, voice quiet. “It’s okay if we didn’t. We couldn’t take everything. I understand.”

Keith seemed to see something Lance couldn’t. He took his sub’s hand and squeezed it. His expression was pained.

“We took it to Miami,” Verita whispered. “We just didn’t bring it _here_.”

Lance gulped. “What do you mean?”

“Papi threw all of your stuff out, _mijo_ , when you didn’t come home for the holidays. Everything. He said you weren’t welcome in the family anymore.”


	44. didn't forget and you're not forgiven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Lance spoke, his voice was cold steel. “Where is he?”

“I couldn’t stop him.” Verita stared at her flour-doused apron, the task in front of her forgotten. “None of us could. We tried. I’m so sorry, love.”

Lance, tears built up in his eyes, held Keith’s hand in a death grip. His jaw was just as tight. Like his mother, he stared downward, either oblivious to or ignoring his mate’s attempts to catch his gaze. He didn’t respond. Heavy silence blanketed the mansion’s kitchen.

If Keith didn’t feel like a useless Dom before, he sure as fuck did then. He couldn’t protect Lance from all these harsh little realities nestled inside the even harsher big picture this semester was turning out to be. Wasn’t that his job? Why didn’t he know how to fucking _do_ it? His instincts were no help without an urgent threat to latch onto.

“Sweetheart...” Keith shook his head. Words evaded him. _Sorry_ from Verita was one thing. From him, it meant nothing. Lance didn’t need platitudes.

_What do you need? I want to give it to you, I swear, I do. Please, how do I help, what do you need what do you need what do you need._

Adam was wrong. So wrong. Keith was the shittiest Dom to ever dominate. He wasn’t doing a ‘fantastic job.’ Not in the goddamn slightest.

Without warning, Lance dropped his hand and stood. Keith rose alongside him out of pure habit.

When Lance spoke, his voice was cold steel. “Where is he?”

Verita finally looked at him. Her eyes were wide and wet.

“Honey, _no_ ,” she said. “Don’t – don’t bother him right now. He’s upset with me. H-he’s not in a great mood. You’ll just make him angry.”

Lance had assured him many times that Alexander never laid a harmful hand on him, but in that moment, Keith had to wonder. Verita’s voice shook with fear. He took one look at the way she stared at Lance, and Keith knew that fear wasn’t for herself.

Lance wasn’t scared. He was _enraged_. It was silent, but Keith saw the fury swirling in his eyes. The new emotion all but overtook him.

He didn’t heed his mother’s warning. Lance turned on his heel and took off, slamming the door behind him as he went.

“I’m sorry,” Keith said to Verita in a rush. “I’ve gotta go get him.”

Lance, long-ass legs and all, proved difficult to keep up with. Actually catching him before he did something stupid was not even within the ballpark of possibility. Keith had to follow the sound of footsteps as they pounded down hardwood corridors and up staircases. Every time a door slammed shut, Keith was just a few seconds behind to reopen it.

He had the urge to call out for his sub every time he caught a glimpse of Lance storming around another corner. Keith refrained. The last thing they needed was to draw attention to themselves.

God only knew how Lance found his way around the place. Perhaps he was accustomed to sweeping an entire mansion to find a single person. Somehow, he did find Alexander.

The room Lance moved toward was the same one where Keith so recently met Alexander. A giant, office-type lounge on the third floor with an impeccable view of the empty landscape. Alexander’s room of choice for privacy, it seemed.

Keith heard his sub yelling before he saw the two figures.

“What the _hell_ is wrong with you?! Put the fucking cigar down and look at me!”

 _Oh, God._ His heart pounded. What was Lance getting himself into? Keith broke into a sprint down the last half of the hallway.

When he shoved the cracked door open, the scene shocked him in all its unfamiliarity. Alexander reclined on the couch, lit cigar in hand, looking calm and collected as ever. That part was normal. That wasn’t the surprise.

The surprise was _Lance._

He loomed over his father, fists clenched and face red with rage. Keith had seen Lance annoyed before, but, God, never so _angry._

“I don’t know what the hell you’re talking about, kid.” Alexander waved his free hand in a dismissive way. “And you’d better watch the way you speak to me. Being in _my_ house, baking shit with _my_ sub – those are privileges, not rights.”

Keith changed his tune. He leaned in the doorway, arms crossed. His presence remained unbeknownst to Alexander, whose back was toward him.

He didn’t want to intervene, after all. He’d much rather watch his sub verbally tear the man to shreds.

And shred him, Lance did.

“Bullshit.” Lance growled in a Dom-esque way and – holy _fuck_ – plucked the cigar right out of his father’s hand. He stamped it out in the ashtray. Keith smirked. _Ballsy._

“ _Lance._ ” Alexander stared. “The hell’s gotten into you?”

“You threw my stuff away. All of it. Why?”

Alexander neither moved nor made a sound. For a long moment, it was only Lance breathing heavy as he glared holes through his father’s skull.

“You clearly had no interest in us,” Alexander said slowly. “Why should we have saved all your childhood stuff? You wanted to forget you even _were_ my child, didn’t you?”

Keith shivered with a sudden wave of cold. Nobody could have told Alexander as much. He had to be smarter than Keith originally thought. Considering Lance’s intelligence, that shouldn’t have come as a surprise, but it did.

Immediately, Lance deflated.

Keith could think of a million and one ways to respond (though, to be fair, most of them were incoherent strings of expletives.) His sub didn’t fare nearly as well. Lance opened his mouth, a fish out of water, and averted his gaze as if he’d find the answer he searched for somewhere in the room.

“I did,” he finally said, and Keith’s heart sank. “I – yeah. I did.”

In his opinion? That confession was the worst move Lance could have made. He didn’t need to see Alexander’s smirk of triumph to know it was there.

This time, they didn’t win the game.


	45. lived every day with the pain in the back of my mind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "So we're back to this."
> 
> Veronica's lips formed a thin line. Her gaze was piercing. Honestly, Lance was so sick of all the anger in his life as of late. Sick of having his loved ones angry at him. Sick of being angry.
> 
> "Yeah," he said above the bustle of a coffee shop. Rachel sat with them this time. She stared at the table. "We're back to this."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yo, I dropped the ball on posting 3 chapters yesterday, sorrrry about that! I really did want to. it's just that the preschool I work at had literally five teachers out sick yesterday, and I knew i'd be too exhausted to type up a third chapter out of my notebook and onto the computer by the time I got home, so I saved the afternoon chapter for the evening instead. 
> 
> good news is: today I get to spend the day doing nothing but relax via reading a new book I bought last night and writing, so you get four chapters today to make up for it, since I have plenty of time to transfer and upload them! expect more uploads today at (roughly) 3pm EST, 5:30pm EST, and 8pm EST!
> 
> enjoy!

"So we're back to this."

Veronica's lips formed a thin line. Her gaze was piercing. Honestly, Lance was so _sick_ of all the anger in his life as of late. Sick of having his loved ones angry at him. Sick of being angry.

"Yeah," he said above the bustle of a coffee shop. Rachel sat with them this time. She stared at the table. "We're back to this."

"Why are you letting him get to you?"

 _Don't get mad. Don't get mad. No more anger._ Lance took a deep breath. Four, seven, eight.

"I'm not," he said. "I shouldn't have to subject myself to his bull, so I won't. That's not 'letting him get to me.'"

Quite the opposite, in fact. Taking a step back was what would prevent that from happening. Alexander couldn't worm his way under Lance's skin if Lance was nowhere to be found.

Truth be told, though, it wasn't just himself he was concerned for. Lance was also a little worried about Keith.

He'd seen the constant, underlying stress in his Dom's eyes since the rest of the McClains cropped back into Lance's life. He felt the tense nature of Keith's muscles, even when he should have been at rest, only relaxing when he was deliberately made to do so. Keith was overworked. Keith was stretching himself way too thin. Keith needed a _break._

As did Lance - a break from Alexander, to be precise. Some time to regroup and recollect all his strewn pieces before they interacted again.

Who knew a few hours a day with one man, for a single week, could be so _exhausting?_

Well, he did, now. And Lance had no intention of torturing himself with any further visits to the mansion. Not for a while, at least. It just wasn't necessary. 

What little remained conscious of the sleepy optimist in him wondered if the distance might actually help Alexander come to his sense. Help him realize _he_ was the one pushing his son away, and maybe even help him change his behavior.

The realist in him, alert and forefront, laughed. It laughed, and laughed, and laughed.

Rachel lifted her eyes, hesitant, to throw in her two cents. "I...kind of don't blame him, Vee. I think Lance is right."

Lance didn't need her approval to feel justified in his choice, but he appreciated it all the same. He offered a kind smile to his newfound backup. Rachel barely had time to smile back before her attention was guided elsewhere. Veronica elbowed the younger sister's side and fixed her with a burning glare. 

"You're _okay_ with this?" She asked in shock. "You're okay with jumping through hoops just to see your own brother?"

Lance grit his teeth. "It's not 'jumping through hoops.' I just won't go to Alexander's home. It's literally the _one_ place within a fifty mile radius where I'm not willing to meet you."

Veronica turned the heat on him. Lance didn't cower; he met it full-force. His heart twinged in empathy when Rachel, out of the corner of his eye, shrank back into her seat.

"Oh, that's great." Veronica's voice shook with anger, tinted by humorless sarcasm. "I have to meet my baby brother for coffee or lunch like a damn business partner. Like it's a job interview. That's great, Lance, _really_ , thank you."

Frankly - and, pardon his French, but Keith rubbed off on him more and more by the day - Lance had no fucking patience for it. No patience for her shitty little games, as if they were children again, chasing each other around the backyard as they whined and fought over the better soccer ball. She seemed, for some weird reason, to assume she could pressure and guilt him into changing his mind.

Was manipulation a learned skill or an inherited gene?

"Why can't you hang out in my dorm? Or join us at my friend's house for movie nights, or come have dinner at Adam's. Stop making up fake obstacles. Literally nothing is stopping you from meeting me in less public places."

"Your Dom is."

That was meant to be a low blow. Lance couldn't tell how, but he knew it was. And, again: it was entirely incorrect. Keith posed no threat to his burgeoning (and now it seemed, unfortunately, crashing and burning) reconnection with his sisters.

Lance was saved from stumbling through a baffled request for clarification, and inadvertently given a moment to reign in his growing anger. Rachel was the one who snapped her head up to stare at Veronica.

"How?" Rachel asked, wide-eyed. "Keith hasn't been anything but nice to us. He's such a sweetheart. God, Vee, what's your problem today?"

"My _problem_ is, Lance clearly has no interest in being part of our family." Veronica looked at him, eyes steely and knowing. "Said it himself, in fact."

Lance flinched.

Well. He did say that, didn't he? More or less. But God, did that look on Rachel's face make him regret it. She turned his way, too. All eyes on him.

"Really?" Rachel's chin trembled faintly. Yet another thing he'd forgotten: how sensitive the second youngest McClain was. How easily her feelings could be pulverized. "You - you really said that?"

_God, I'm such a terrible brother._

"No," Lance said firmly. It was only halfway a lie. Veronica hadn't shared the whole picture, where the context could be found. "I said I don't want _him_. You know I love you, Rach."

Rachel stared, silent, as if considering that statement's validity. Veronica's eyes flicked rapidly between the two of them.

"I don't blame you," Rachel said, with much less conviction this time. She dropped her gaze to the paper cup in her hand. "You've got a lot of good things going for you right now. I wouldn't want him to ruin it all, either, if it was me." She paused. "And I love you, too."

Lance smiled a little. "I know."

And then there was one.

Veronica's jaw twitched, and her throat moved as she swallowed. She met his eyes, unwavering, and Lance's heart sank. He knew his eldest sister well enough to read that look. She wasn't about to budge. Not anytime soon.

Sure enough, she said, quiet and practically purged of all emotion: "Guess you two can do _movie nights_ without me, then."

The part that hurt Lance most was that she'd yet to give a solid reason. Her decision to break off from him had no legs to stand on nor ground beneath it. But then, Lance supposed this had never been about him, or who he did and didn't want to call family. Veronica was a master of projection.

 _She_ didn't want Lance. She didn't want to admit it, either. What better way to cover her tracks than with a heavy dousing of blame?

Lance felt the strongest urge to cry. He wanted to curl up into a tight ball on the dirty coffee shop floor and _weep_. He instead forced himself to accept defeat with a level of calm he didn't feel.

"If that's what you want," he said.

"It is."

He would have to learn to be okay with that.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wow,,,i'm really out here turning the happy klance idea of coffee shops into an angst thing, huh. will y'all ever read a coffee shop AU the same way again?


	46. torture doesn't begin to describe it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was a long silence, save for Lance's kitchen bustle. Adam stared at Keith with one brow raised, expectant. Keith stared back.
> 
> "Oh. That's - that's it?" Adam asked finally.
> 
> Keith gave him an incredulous look. "Yes, that's it! Where's my advice?"
> 
> His father looked a lot less keen to participate all of a sudden. The man heaved a sigh and rubbed at his temples.
> 
> "Frankly, son, I'm not sure what the question is."

"I need some advice."

Had Keith given Adam enough credit for his sainthood? No amount felt like enough. The man was an actual goddamned _saint._

He didn't seem to mind the request at all. In fact, he looked overjoyed to offer his son advice. His eyes sparkled. Adam straightened his spine and pushed his glasses up on the bridge of his nose.

"Of course!" He said with the warmth of pleasant surprise, which only confirmed Keith's hunch. "What do you need advice on? School? Money? Bedroo-"

"I'm gonna stop you right there." Keith closed his eyes and held up a hand in protest. "None of the above, and _especially_ not that last one. It's - more specific."

"Oh." Adam leaned forward in his armchair, already enraptured. "What is it, then? You can ask me anything, son, you know that."

Keith glanced over both his shoulders just to be sure, though he didn't really have to. He could hear Lance in the kitchen. His sub hummed some shitty Disney show tune or another that Keith always pretended to like in the car. The electric mixer whirred along.

Keith followed his father's lead and leaned in, elbows propped on his knees.

"It's about the Sperm Donor."

He avoided any verbal mention of _Alexander_ or _dad_ , lest the words catch Lance's ear and consequently his curiosity. Adam had no trouble figuring out who 'Sperm Donor' was.

The older Dom's confident expression faltered for a moment. "Oh - alright, then. I'll do my best. What's on your mind?"

Keith held a breath in puffed cheeks and exhaled it slowly. A habit he'd picked up from both his parents, actually, now that he thought about it. Adam waited with the patience of...well. You know. A fucking saint.

"Lance and his sisters are fighting over him," Keith said in perfect timing, as Lance chose that exact moment to turn up the speed on the mixer. "Like - I _hate_ that he can't get along with them anymore, just because of all this shit with their d...Sperm Donor. He's told me all these stories about how close they used to be, and that's just...not how it is anymore."

There was a long silence, save for Lance's kitchen bustle. Adam stared at Keith with one brow raised, expectant. Keith stared back.

" _Oh_. That's - that's it?" Adam asked finally.

Keith gave him an incredulous look. "Yes, that's it! Where's my advice?"

His father looked a lot less keen to participate all of a sudden. The man heaved a sigh and rubbed at his temples.

"Frankly, son, I'm not sure what the question is."

Keith hung his head and weaved fingers through his fair. He pulled at the strands with a low groan of frustration.

Adam wasn't a sucky advice giver, Keith knew. He was just a sucky advice _asker_. He was the problem. Just one more thing to add to the long list of shit he couldn't fucking do right. What else was new?

" _Keith_. Come on, buddy. Talk to me."

Adam had to possess a genius IQ to pull a trick like that out of thin air. The term of endearment and style of speech, both borrowed from Shiro and flawlessly executed, snatched the younger Dom's attention in an instant. Keith lifted his head and spilled his feelings without meaning to.

"I - want to help? I guess." He fumbled for the right words. "I want them to stop fighting. I want to help fix this shit. I just don't know _how_."

Keith's gaze, averted toward the mantel, made a daring trek back to the other's face. His father nodded slowly, lips pursed in thought.

"Well, I _have_ some advice." Adam sighed and crossed one ankle over the opposite knee as he leaned back in his chair. "But I can tell you right now, you aren't going to like it."

"Whatever it is, I'm sure it's better than doing nothing." Nothing was one thing Keith couldn't do in this scenario.

Adam gave him a measured look. "That's exactly it, though."

Keith blinked. "Huh?"

"That's my advice. Do nothing."

"You're right. I don't like that."

"Look, son. You can't stop them from fighting, and you shouldn't. This is good for them. Good for Lance."

"How could this possibly be good for him?"

Adam's eyes implored Keith to maintain contact, so he did.

"They need to figure this out on their own, Keith," Adam said firmly. "They have to learn for themselves that Al...Sperm Donor is the common denominator in all their struggles. It won't mean anything from an outsider. You can't learn Lance's lessons for him."

God, but he so fucking wished he could. Adam might as well have shot him in the gut with the highest caliber bullet a man could find. It would have hurt less.

 _Then what's my damn purpose, if I can't help Lance?_ Keith wanted to ask, the words bubbling like acid up his throat. _What am I even fucking breathing for if he doesn't need me?_

Keith chewed the questions up and swallowed them so they wouldn't slip past his lips uninvited. God only knew what kind of overdramatic shit the patent-pending TherapistDadWyler could read into them.

"Fine," Keith said, voice low. "Guess I'll just - do nothing, then." _Like the lazy, piece of shit Dom I am._

"Trust me, Keith. That's for the best."

The mixer slowed to a stop. Lance came through the kitchen archway, a faint smile on his face. Both Doms fixed their solemn expressions at once.

"Can't believe you kicked me out of my own kitchen." Adam stood with a chuckle. He ruffled Lance's hair as the sub passed him. "Don't forget who the _real_ cook is around here, son."

Lance threw a shit-eating grin over his shoulder. "Well, thanks, Adam! I'm not _that_ great. But don't worry, I won't forget it."

Keith welcomed his gorgeous boy with open arms when he settled on his mate's lap and nuzzled close.

"Have fun?" Keith asked, and his smile was real. Lance nodded against his neck.

"Mmhm. 'S relaxing."

"I didn't know you loved cooking so much. No wonder you and Hunk are friends."

"Not just cooking. Cooking _here_. Just being here in general. This is home."

At that, Adam paused in the archway and caught Keith's eye. He left his son with an encouraging smile before he disappeared into the kitchen.

Unwinding in the Wyler/Shirogane house was Lance's idea of home.

Sitting on the couch with Lance curled up in his lap, pressing sweet kisses to his neck - that was Keith's. He buried his face in Lance's hair and breathed deep.

"Yeah, sweetheart. I know how you feel."


	47. all alone with my own decisions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance entered their dorm and stood by the door, bag slung over his shoulder and mouth open. "So I kind of had a crazy idea."

Lance entered their dorm and stood by the door, bag slung over his shoulder and mouth open. "So I kind of had a crazy idea."

Keith looked up from his notepad. His eyes were weary, framed with dark circles, but he smiled.

"Yeah? And what's your crazy idea?"

Lance regretted the words immediately.

Keith looked _exhausted._

They were both so busy as it was, wrestling their jam-packed schedules on a daily basis. Did they even have the time? Probably not. Maybe Lance should have said _bad idea_ instead.

But the precursor was out in the air now, and Keith watched him, expectant. Lance gulped and pressed forward.

"I want to start a group."

"A group?"

"Yeah. You know, like, a university group. Here. At the university. To...meet. And do stuff."

Keith sighed. He set his notepad down and scooted to the edge of the bungee chair, patting the newly freed space beside him. Lance joined him with a grin, bouncing a little as he plopped down.

"You're gonna break this damn chair one day," Keith grumbled, though he was smiling, too. He wrapped an arm around his sub's waist and pulled their hips to touch. "Alright. Group. Tell me about it."

Lance took a deep breath. "A sub group - for support, and stuff. And maybe we could help out if there's, like, injustices happening?"

Keith nodded. That little, singular dimple on the left side of his mouth made an appearance, and Lance felt weak at the sight.

"Noble cause, good sir. You think the administration will approve it?"

Lance deflated. His shoulders fell, and he dropped a solemn gaze to his lap, twisting his fingers together. "I didn't think about that."

"Wha - _hey_. Sweetheart, I wasn't trying to discourage you. I'm sure it'll be approved, alright? This isn't the Garrison."

"They had to start a petition begging that a _known_ rapist be removed from campus. We literally know the girl's name."

Keith winced as his conviction took a hit. "Well...you never know."

Lance laid his head on Keith's shoulder as the pair lapsed into silence. A firm hand played with his hair, and his eyelids fluttered beneath the ministrations.

How likely was it, really? Even if he could get a submissive support group approved and off the ground, said group might not necessarily be allowed to, well, _support submissives_ in the way it should. Shiro was barred from helping to improve the situation at the Garrison for so long. Who was to say U.A.A. didn't sing in the same key?

And oh, God, his _schedule_. Weekdays were already bursting at the seams. Where on earth would he fit it in? Not to mention finding members to join -

"What are you thinking about?"

Keith murmured the words in his ear, lips brushing his hairline. Lance turned his head to kiss his Dom's jaw.

"A lot," Lance said, but that wasn't anything new. "Shiro got through to Iverson out of luck. How much of a chance do I have?"

Keith's grip on his waist tightened nearly to the point of bruising. "A pretty damn good chance."

"How?"

"You're crazy fucking smart, Lance. You'll find a way."

There were a lot of reasons to give up before he tried - but with Keith's support, they all fell abysmally flat.

"Guess I'm starting a group, then."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> kay fam I opted out of college so I actually have no idea how groups/clubs/coalitions work in college except for the fact that they exist. you'll have to forgive my ignorance.
> 
> OH. also. the video in the link below? it's entitled 'link being a danger to himself and others for 7 minutes straight.'
> 
> i opt that it be retitled 'hlp lance being a danger to himself and others for 7 minutes straight.' it made me laugh so hard imagining it within the context of this fic. so enjoy that!
> 
> [hlp lance being a danger to himself and others for 7 minutes straight](https://youtu.be/yaLndJgMuyM)


	48. i try to scream but you never will listen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey. Busy bee. Got a second?"
> 
> Lance raised an eyebrow. "Do I have a choice?"

Nevaeh found him around the edge of the fountain while he waited for Keith. His feet stopped swinging.

"Hey. Busy bee. Got a second?"

Lance raised an eyebrow. "Do I have a choice?"

Something was up.

She offered him a grim smile. That in and of itself was cause for concern. Sure, he hardly knew the girl, but she didn't come across as a very smiley person. It didn't help that her face seemed a shade paler than it was last time he saw her. 

"Not really." She hefted herself onto the fountain beside him.

"Oh, yes." Lance rolled his eyes. "Please join me."

The words were barely out of his mouth before she held up her graviphone, practically shoving the device in his face. The display lit up with an e-mail.

"They turned down my petition."

Lance gulped. The sudden lump of emotion in his throat was difficult to swallow. "Oh."

What was he supposed to say? 'I'm not surprised'? He wasn't. Not in the slightest. But to admit as much aloud would be to confess, albeit indirectly, that he had a very up-close and personal take on this brand of injustice. Nevaeh clearly didn't. She'd been far too hopeful.

It suddenly made sense, why she looked pale and sick. She probably hadn't slept.

"Yeah." Nevaeh cleared her throat and pulled her phone back. "Just thought I should let you know. Like - since you signed it and stuff."

"A lot of people signed it."

"I know."

She hopped down from the fountain's edge and made to leave. Lance placed a hand on her shoulder to stop her.

"Wait. I have a question."

Nevaeh faced him with a sigh. "What is it, busy bee? I've got a project due."

"Why don't you like Keith?"

She looked confused for a moment. Then her eyes fell to the collar around his neck - the silver _K_ charm that dangled front and center - and her face darkened.

"Oh," she said, voice steely and eyes narrowed. "Your _Dom._ "

Lance ground his teeth together. "Yeah. He's actually a nice guy." _You know - once you get past his abysmal social skills. And that whole picking up corn with his fingers thing._

"I don't really give a fuck how nice he is."

"Then what's your problem?"

Nevaeh huffed out an impatient breath and turned her eyes away. "I just wouldn't have thought you were that type."

"What type?"

"The type to let somebody own you."

Understanding crashed down on Lance like a wave, chased by empathy. Nevaeh didn't have a problem with Keith in particular. 

Nevaeh had a problem with Doms.

He could relate.

"Hey - it's not like that," he said softly. Her gaze remained defiantly averted. "It's not like I'm not a _person._ It's just-"

"Just what?" Nevaeh snapped. She finally met his eyes. Hers were a striking blue, not dissimilar to his own, but nothing about them reminded Lance of his beloved ocean. They burned like red-hot flames. "That's exactly what it's like. You're not fucking real estate, Lance. You're a human being. And you're letting somebody treat you like a possession. That's my problem, okay? I have a problem with that."

Lance closed his eyes to shield himself from her fire, and took a deep breath.

What else was there to say? She was wrong, of course. But he hardly stood any chance of convincing her if she was half as stubborn as she seemed.

"I'm sorry about the petition," he said when he opened his eyes. "That really does suck."

The flames were quenched. Nevaeh's shoulders drooped.

"Yeah," she said. "It does."

Keith came toward them on the walking path, and Nevaeh took his arrival as her cue to leave. This time it was Lance's turn to linger a sympathetic gaze on her back as she went.


	49. it took a while but you're finally out of my life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance regretted his words the nanosecond they left his mouth. A blush of embarrassment and guilt heated his face as Keith shot him a piercing look from the other side of the dorm.
> 
> The Dom slowly pushed the desk chair back and stood. “Repeat what you just said to me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i apologize profusely for the lack of updates today. i was,,,extremely stressed earlier and am still feeling anxious from it. good news is this is a longer chapter to make up for it. and my boss said there's a good chance i can take a paid day off on tuesday so fingers crossed for that.
> 
> enjoy!

Lance regretted his words the nanosecond they left his mouth. A blush of embarrassment and guilt heated his face as Keith shot him a piercing look from the other side of the dorm.

The Dom slowly pushed the desk chair back and stood. “Repeat what you just said to me.”

And Lance knew he’d earned that disappointment and anger. He knew the shame that coursed through his veins was something he brought on himself. But a small part of him clung to defiance, annoyed that he wasn’t allowed to snap every once in a while.

“Forget it,” he said sharply and turned his eyes away. “It doesn’t even matter.”

Keith took a couple of steps toward Lance where he sat on the edge of the bed. The movement solidified an unspoken warning that the sub would be wise to heed.

“ _Repeat_...what you just said to me, Lance.”

Lance gulped. Blood rushed in his ears. “I said...I said, ‘It’s none of your business.’”

Keith hummed in acknowledgment. “And what rule did you just break?”

“I disrespected you.”

“I’m sorry, what? I don’t think you addressed me properly.”

“I disrespected you, Sir.”

“That’s better.” But Keith grimaced as he said it, and Lance felt a whole new wave of guilt. It washed away the last of his annoyance, leaving only remorse and a hunger for discipline in its place. “You know I have to punish you for that.”

Lance squirmed. He kept his eyes downcast. “Yes, Sir.”

Keith knelt by the side of the bed a few inches away from Lance’s feet. He pulled out a familiar, plastic storage container and rummaged through it. Lance winced when Keith found the tool he was looking for – though, of course, he already knew what it was going to be.

His Dom held a long, rectangular spanking paddle, the leather still in nearly new condition though they’d had it for months. Keith purchased it online one day upon realizing Lance really only found pleasure in corporal punishment when it was a hand that dealt it.

This wasn’t a playful, _you’ve been naughty_ pseudo-punishment. This wasn’t a prelude to sex. Lance was in _trouble_. Shame burned his throat in the form of stomach acid.

Being in trouble wasn’t a very pleasant feeling.

Keith used his free hand to grip Lance’s chin, forcing him to make eye contact. “Fifteen. You’ll count them out, thank me, and ask for another. Does that sound fair to you?”

“Yes, Sir.”

Keith nodded. “You know what you need to say.”

Lanced swallowed thickly, washing the shame back into his stomach.

“I’ve been bad. I’m very sorry. Will you please punish me, Sir?”

Keith’s fingers released his chin and trailed up the side of his face. They intertwined – briefly, sweetly – with his hair. Lance closed his eyes, and a slight whine fell from parted lips. He knew this was the split second of reassurance, the unspoken _I love you_ , before his punishment would be dealt.

“I will,” Keith said. “Since you asked so nicely.”

And then the kindness was gone. Keith released his hair and settled on the edge of the bed, feet flat on the floor. Lance laid himself across his Dom’s lap without being told.

Fine tremors wracked his body, and Keith must have felt them. He placed a firm hand on the small of his sub’s back.

“Don’t be scared.” His authoritative tone wavered just a little. “You don’t have to be scared of me.”

“Yes, Sir.” Lance gulped, pressing his face into the sheets. “I know.”

“Good.” The hand lifted. “Start counting.”

The first hit landed. Lance gasped as it jolted his body forward, and tears stung his eyes. The way Keith dealt the punishment over his sweatpants, rather than pulling them down to savor his sub’s reddening skin, made it all a million times worse. Keith didn’t enjoy this any more than Lance did. He was only doing what had to be done.

“Once,” Lance whispered. “Thank you, Sir. May I please have another?”

Keith had no verbal response. He brought the leather paddle down again as soon as the words were out of Lance’s mouth. A few of the sub’s tears leaked and were soaked up by the bedsheets.

Lance sniffled. “T-two. Thank you, Sir. May I please have another?”

They went on like so for the remainder of the punishment, Lance doing what had been asked of him in a display of perfect obedience. Keith didn’t offer a single word, nor any more soothing gestures. By the time the final swat landed, Lance was crying profusely.

Keith didn’t seem to mind that Lance’s hitching _f-fifteen_ was not followed by a _thank you, Sir._ He dropped the paddle the instant it became unneeded and gathered Lance in his arms.

“ _Shh_ ,” the Dom murmured, holding him tight. “It’s alright, sweet boy. You did _such_ a good job. Good boy. Good boy.”

Whether the overwhelming relief he felt came from the way the punishment’s end eased his guilt or the punishment’s end itself, Lance had no idea. He didn’t really care. All he knew was that Keith was holding him close, reestablishing an aura of love. That was enough.

“I’m s-sorry.” Lance waited until his streams of tears had mostly eased before he spoke. The words were muffled by Keith’s shirt. “’M so sorry.”

A hand rubbed firm circles on his back. “I know you are, beautiful. I forgive you. I love you. Everything’s okay now.”

“L-love you. I love you, t-too.”

“ _Shh_ , I know. I know.”

Of course Keith knew. Lance knew he knew. That was never going to stop him from saying it back.

Keith held him in silence for a moment, allowing Lance to calm himself. When Lance was warm and silent and his fingers no longer shook, the elephant in the room was addressed.

“Do you understand why that was disrespectful?” Keith asked. Lance nodded. Keith stroked his hair. “Use your words, please.”

“Because everything about me is your business.” The truth of that statement washed calm security over him. Lance purred a little as he nuzzled closer. “It’s your job to take care of me. I’m always your business.”

“Good boy, Lance, that’s right. So smart, aren’t you? Good boy.”

“ _Your_ good boy. All yours.”

“That’s right, beautiful. All mine.”

It absolutely blew Lance’s mind, how Nevaeh could disapprove of something so pure and true. How she could scoff at the prospect of Keith owning him. There was nothing in the world more comforting than to hand all his power off to another, to be owned and cared for by someone who knew him as intimately as he knew himself. Lance had to conclude that Nevaeh simply didn’t understand how wonderful it felt to be claimed. Why else would she have a _problem_ with this?

That train of thought led him back to point A. Lance suddenly remembered the reason he’d lashed out at his Dom in the first place.

Keith remembered, too. “I’m going to repeat my question. If you don’t want to answer it right now, you’ll tell me so _respectfully_. Understood?”

Lance didn’t need the permission to continue to withhold his answer. He had no desire to do so anymore. He nodded, anyway. “Yes, Sir. Understood.”

“Good boy. Now – what were you and your friend talking about at the fountain earlier, and why did it upset you?”

“We’re not exactly friends,” Lance said automatically. He didn’t bother trying to deny that she had inadvertently upset him. Partially because his punishment had siphoned every drop of rebellion from his body, but mostly because he knew it was obvious to Keith when he wasn’t happy. “I barely know her. But we were talking about her petition.”

Keith stiffened. “Her petition?”

“Yeah – you know, about getting that rapist lady banned? Alexa-something.”

“I know.” Keith held him impossibly tighter. “Some senior dude asked me to sign it the first week of school.”

“That girl’s name is Nevaeh. She started it, got it passed around.” Lance wrapped his fingers around Keith’s biceps. He held on for dear life as a whole troop of emotions warred in his brain uninvited. “I'm pretty sure half the school signed it. But they turned it down.”

“I... _Lance_. God, sweetheart. That _sucks_. I’m so sorry.”

Lance barked a quick, bitter laugh. “She showed me the e-mail. You already know what they said.”

“Not enough proof?”

“Not enough proof.”

Not enough proof his sore  _ass._ A police report was filed against the lady – by her fourteen year old victim, no less. DNA evidence and all. The victim’s mother brought her daughter’s soiled clothes along in a plastic bag when they made the report.

But, of course – how did they know the girl didn’t want it? No witness. No proof.

The entire story felt sickeningly familiar.

“It’s not just me.” Lance sniffled as he pulled back to look Keith in the eye. “It happens to other subs, too. _All_ the time. And nobody ever does anything about it.”

Keith cradled his lover’s face between two gentle hands. His expression was one of pure sorrow. “Did you put in an application for your group?”

“Yes, Sir.”

A kiss was placed on the center of Lance’s forehead. “Then I guess you know what your first order of business should be.”

“If it’s even approved.”

“ _When_ it’s approved.” Keith gently pressed the sub’s head back down to rest on his shoulder. “ _When_ , babe.”

Lance nodded. “When.”

He could feel Keith’s soft smile where he buried his face into the crown of Lance’s head. It made Lance smile, too, just a little, in spite of his raging emotions and thoroughly stinging ass.

“That’s my boy.”


	50. and i swear there's no better feeling

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> That one word played on loop in his mind.
> 
> Approved. Approved. Approved.

Joy thrummed at his fingertips, causing them to tremble in a good way for once. Lance bounced on his toes, one hand on the strap of his bag, as he waited outside the doors of the lecture hall where Keith's class was running a few minutes behind. The smile twisting his lips was too emphatic to be contained, so he didn't bother trying. It shone from his face like sunshine.

That one word played on loop in his mind.

_Approved. Approved. Approved._

The doors opened. Students began to spill out. The second Lance caught sight of that familiar not-mullet, he launched. 

Keith, though stiff with shock, humored Lance's embrace for a few seconds before stepping back.

" _Whoa_. Hello to you, too." Keith blinked. Then, at seeing the happiness his sub radiated, he smirked. "Little excited about something?"

Lance's self-control was all but obliterated. Keith's lips were _right_ there, in all their chapped, kissable glory, and he couldn't resist. He pulled his Dom in for a sloppy clash of tongue and teeth. His grip on Keith's paler face had to be close to bruising.

When they parted, both breathing heavily, Lance whispered against his mouth:

"My group was approved."


	51. who knew you'd be hated for being who you are?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Only thirty minutes into his endeavor, Lance completely understood why Nevaeh felt she had to shove her fliers in peoples' faces to make them listen.
> 
> It was because she did have to shove her fliers in peoples' faces to make them listen.

Only thirty minutes into his endeavor, Lance completely understood why Nevaeh felt she had to shove her fliers in peoples' faces to make them listen.

It was because she _did_ have to shove her fliers in peoples' faces to make them listen.

He'd decided to take a leaf from her book and advertise his group on traditional stationary. It seemed like a great idea, sending students on their way with a physical reminder in their hands.

At least, it _would_ have been a great idea - if a single person had taken a single one of his fliers. Lance wasn't anywhere near as aggressive as Nevaeh. He couldn't be. His inclination was to smile and weave kindness into every word. 

God, how did she do it?

Lance didn't have to wait long to find out.

"Oh, busy bee..." The familiar nickname was followed by a series of _tsks_. "So innocent. So naïve. So hopelessly gentle."

He turned with a dramatic groan. His fingers clenched tight around exactly one hundred and fifty sheets of paper.

Of course, it was all for show. Lance wasn't the slightest bit annoyed by her presence. On the contrary - he had to bite back an urge to launch himself at the girl, shake her shoulders, and demand she spill all her little attention-grabbing secrets. But he had a reputation to upkeep as far as she was concerned (and he was, perhaps, just a teensy bit intimidated by her.)

"Oh, look," he said dryly. "Literally the last person on the planet I want to see right now. Lucky me."

Nevaeh took no offense. She meandered toward him, arms crossed and lips turned up in a grin. "When did you get so snarky? I'm impressed."

"I'm only snarky with people who annoy the crap out of me - so you should probably go ahead and get used to it."

" _Ooh_. Sick burn. Might send me to urgent care with that one."

His stony façade broke. Lance cracked a small smile of his own. He couldn't even bring himself to be annoyed by the way Nevaeh held her head high, smug in her triumph. She was, truthfully, a sight for sore eyes.

"Please understand that it brings me actual, physical pain to say this..." He waved the stack of fliers. "...but I need your help."

Nevaeh's eyes grew alight in an instant. Not with the fire of fury he'd last seen burning in them, thankfully - today, her baby blues glowed with excitement. 

She extended one hand and made impatient, grabby motions. "Let me see."

Lance handed the papers over without qualm.

Nevaeh skimmed the top flier of the stack. Lance's stomach churned when an array of emotions passed over her face and, finally, she landed on disgust, nose scrunched and eyes squinted.

"Well." She handed the stack of papers back. "I can tell you right away what the problem is."

Lance arched an expectant brow. "Okay? And the problem is...?"

"You're _way_ too damn nice."

Lance sighed. _Thanks, Captain Obvious._

"I kind of figured," he admitted with a wince. "But I don't want to be _mean_. That defeats the entire purpose of a support group."

"You don't have to be mean to be assertive."

"Have you looked in the mirror lately?"

Nevaeh rolled her eyes, still grinning. "That's different. I'm mean because I enjoy it."

"That explains a lot."

"Mmhm. You want my help or not?"

She didn't wait for his confirmation. Nevaeh stepped forward and wrenched the papers from his grasp. The next time a student passed them on the walking path a few moments later, staring mindlessly at their phone without watching where they were going, she shoved a flier a mere few inches beneath their nose. The student gasped and jolted back in shock, trance effectively broken. 

"A new submissive support group is underway!" Nevaeh said, loud and authoritative, but with a chipper edge so uncharacteristic it made Lance immensely uncomfortable. She flashed a dazzling smile. "Tell all your friends!"

"Oh." The student blinked as they slowly took the paper. "Uh...thanks?"

"You're welcome!"

Lance couldn't help the mortified blush that creeped over his face.

"Maybe I don't want your help, after all."

"Yes, you do."

Yeah. He did.


	52. and be a big target for all the insecure

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance laughed and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Don't worry; A-plus for effort. I'll give you a participation prize later."
> 
> "Oh, and pray tell, what would that prize be?"
> 
> "Can't say. It has naughty words."
> 
> "I'm definitely interested."

Lance was not sitting around the edge of the fountain when Keith approached, but bouncing on his toes nearby it. He practically skipped toward Keith once he caught sight of him.

"You'll never guess how many people Nevaeh got to take my fliers."

Keith smirked down at the few leftovers his sub held. "One hundred and forty-six?"

"One hundred and forty- _seven._ "

"Oh, damn. So close."

Lance laughed and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Don't worry; A-plus for effort. I'll give you a participation prize later."

"Oh, and pray tell, what would that prize be?"

"Can't say. It has naughty words."

"I'm definitely interested."

Keith wrapped his arms around the sub's waist. His breath was quite literally stolen by the bright smile on Lance's face - it caught halfway down his throat and refused to move any further. 

"I love you," Lance said, and the light of wonder in his eyes made Keith's chest ache in the best way. Long, slim fingers intertwined with his hair and held tight. "Like... _so_ much. You have no idea."

Keith kissed Lance's hairline. "I think I really do."

"Mmhm. Keep telling yourself that."

He was preparing to form some witty retort or another when the fliers Lance held interrupted his train of thought. Specifically, the _name_ of the advertised group had Keith fighting to keep a grin contained while his shoulders began to shake.

"Uh, Lance?" He asked. "Can you read that out loud for me, please? That, right there - the group name."

Lance cocked his head in a puzzled way, brows drawn together. "The name? Association for Submissive Support. What about it?"

"You _are_ aware that most groups will be referred to by their acronyms, right?"

"...oh, God."

"Lance - sweetheart. You literally named your group A.S.S."

_"Nooo!"_

* * *

When Adam called hours later to check in and catch up, Keith answered with a grin and a maniacal gleam in his eyes. 

"Oh, hey, Adam! Lance did the craziest thing today-"

Lance lunged.

"Keith Kogane! Give me that phone _right_ now!"

"His group has the coolest name, do you want to hear it-"

_"Keeeiith!"_


	53. there's a bullseye painted on our chests in the crosshairs of the ignorant

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn’t breathe because the image of Alexander, disgustingly calm as he poised his hand above Verita in silent threat, was overwhelmingly familiar. His lungs were frozen now because they were frozen when he was twelve and his foster father locked him in the hall closet for the weekend. Air abandoned him at eighteen the same way it did at ten, when beefy fingers wrapped tight around his throat and shook.
> 
> Were they there now? He couldn’t tell. Keith brought a hand to his throat to check. No; he wasn’t being choked.
> 
> It sure as fuck felt like it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...oh come ON. y'all been knew I couldn't leave you too long without some angst don't tell me u didn't see this comin!!!
> 
> and of course the langst is going to grow as the story goes on so,,,lets get our required dosage of keith angst out of the way now so you can more enjoy lance's suffering later in full without any distractions :) :) :)
> 
> I am SORRY I didn't post anything yesterday fam. work has been crazy this week. good news is I (most likely) have a paid day off on Friday. assuming nobody else at work gets sick, my boss is letting me use one of the 3 paid mental health days I get a year since my anxiety's been through the roof with all this work stress. but there's a stomach bug going around which means we're way short staffed (the cause of said stress) so if somebody else gets sick again, i'm gonna have to be there so they're not short staffed. fingers crossed my paladudes.
> 
> i'm HOPING to post 4 chapters each day on Friday, Saturday and sunday rather than the typical 3, to make up for the 3 that didn't get posted yesterday. don't hold me to those specific days, but I would like to catch up on those 3 chapters sometime within the next week.
> 
> the next chapter being posted this afternoon will be the last of act four. this evening's chapter kicks off act 5. act 5 is a...long one. and an Emotional one. fair warning.
> 
> please ENJOY this spectacular kick-off to requiem's brief kangst season. feed me your tears :)))))

He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t breathe.

Keith brought a hand up in front of his face, frowning at the tremor that ran through it, willing it to stop. Lance was still curled up in the other room, sound asleep. He would likely wake once he began to realize his Dom had left the bed.

He willed his shaking body to still. Willed the panic clogging his mind and vision to dissipate. Willed his lungs to accept oxygen again and _breathe_ , damn it.

But, of course, they refused. Naturally.

It was strange, Keith thought, that he didn’t have the bed of his parents to crawl into anymore, the way he used to back when he still regularly experienced these attacks, before Lance came along. Strange to lock himself in the adjacent bathroom of a shared couples’ dorm and trudge through this shit alone.

Strange – but necessary, nonetheless.

Lance was already walking through his own struggles, trying so hard to put on a brave face and make the most of it. He didn’t need to see his Dom like this. He didn’t need to see the man who was supposed to protect him so weak and vulnerable, even more so than himself. Too weak and vulnerable to put his own needs aside and care for his sub the way he was meant to.

And so Lance _wouldn’t_ see him like this. Not now; not ever. Not as long as Keith had any say in it.

Another wave of anxiety quite literally knocked him off his feet. Keith fumbled for the towel rod in a desperate attempt to keep himself upright. It was to no avail; his knees hit the hard bathroom tile, and the sting of it hardly registered.

_Breathe breathe breathe have to breathe whycantibreathe._

But he already knew why he couldn’t.

He couldn’t breathe because the image of Alexander, disgustingly calm as he poised his hand above Verita in silent threat, was overwhelmingly familiar. His lungs were frozen now because they were frozen when he was twelve and his foster father locked him in the hall closet for the weekend. Air abandoned him at eighteen the same way it did at ten, when beefy fingers wrapped tight around his throat and shook.

Were they there now? He couldn’t tell. Keith brought a hand to his throat to check. No; he wasn’t being choked.

It sure as fuck felt like it.

“Keith…?”

Lance’s voice, small and uncertain. Behind the door, the bed creaked as weight shifted. Keith pressed a hand to his mouth to stifle harsh pants.

Somebody was choking him. They had to be. There was no other explanation for the fingers around his neck and his blocked airway. Was he locked in a bathroom or a pitch-black closet?

A knock at the door, soft and hesitant. Keith wouldn’t have thought it was possible to feel any more panicked – and he was wrong. A sharp spike of adrenaline rushed through his veins.

The last thing he wanted to do was speak and risk revealing his moment of fragility. Keith managed to sputter through a few words, anyway. Lance deserved to feel at ease.

“G-give me a minute.”

There was a pause.

“Are you okay?” Lance whispered through the door. “You sound upset. Are you sick?”

“I’m _fine._ Give me a m-minute. Go back to bed.”

Were he in a better mood, Keith might have pointed out that Lance was technically breaking a rule, getting out of bed in the middle of the night without permission. As things were, though, the Dom could hardly bring himself to care.

The doorknob rattled.

“ _Keith_. Baby, I know something’s wrong. Just let me in.”

“Lance!” Keith’s voice shook. There didn’t seem to be much point anymore in trying to hide it. _I know something’s wrong_. “Do what I told you and go to bed. I’ll be there in a minute.”

Another pause – a longer one this time. For a moment, Keith feared he might have hurt his sub’s feelings. He wouldn’t have been surprised if he had. He really did fuck everything up, didn’t he?

“...okay,” Lance said slowly. Not offended, thank fuck; just immensely concerned. So much for hiding it. “I hope you’re alright. I love you.”

Feet shuffled across the carpet and the bed creaked again before Keith found enough breath to return the sentiment.

_Breathe. Breathe. Breathe._

He was trying.

God, he was trying.


	54. but i am not your scapegoat anymore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The sound of laughter and chatting greeted him as he walked down the empty hall, his own footsteps muffled by the padding of the carpet. Lance smiled a little. It sounded like a good sign – like a promise from the universe to him. 'This thing? This will be a good thing. Pinky swear.'
> 
> God, he hoped those elusive cosmos would follow through.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here, have something nice before the angst starts in a few hours.
> 
> oh, what a lovely evening this will be for me, relishing in your suffering as act five begins :))))
> 
> enjoy the end of act four! if you enjoyed this act, please leave a comment and let me know - I read and cherish every comment, I love to hear your feedback!

Lance had...a _lot_ going on, to say the least.

Something was up with Keith. That much was obvious. Lance thought he might have an inkling as to why, knowing Keith’s traumatic past and knowing all too well how Alexander’s treatment of Mama might influence that. He certainly couldn’t blame the Dom for struggling with his mental health in such a scenario (or any scenario, really; it wasn’t like Keith _chose_ to struggle).

Problem was, he had no clue what he was supposed to do about it.

Keith wasn’t much for accepting help from others. He had a tendency to isolate himself – especially in the moments when he most needed company and support. Lance had suspected for a long time that Keith suffered from some mild form of anxiety, an undercurrent that followed him through each day, though neither of them ever spoke of it.

Lance wanted to do something about it. It hurt to come to the realization, as he lay awake worrying and waiting for Keith to emerge from the bathroom, that he really _couldn’t_ do anything.

He pretended to be sound asleep when his Dom finally opened the door and rejoined him in bed (after what was closer to twenty minutes rather than the promised one). He pretended not to notice the way Keith held him much tighter than usual, how his hands shook as he gripped onto Lance’s pajama shirt for dear life. How his breath hitched and a soft whimper escaped him as he nuzzled into his supposedly sleeping sub’s hair.

He was just going to have to wait until Keith decided he was ready to talk. His chest ached at the thought of leaving his mate to suffer in silence, but there was no other option. How was he supposed to help somebody who refused to be helped?

Truthfully, he couldn’t.

But there were some other people he could help in the meantime.

Lance’s legs were practically trembling with – anticipation? Excitement? Something like that – when Monday evening finally rolled around. With Keith’s permission, he would now skip out on their meeting-at-the-fountain routine on Mondays. He had somewhere else to be.

Specifically, he had a small classroom on the west end of the Harvey Milk Building waiting for him. Filled with only Nevaeh or with seventy other subs in search of support, Lance was none the wiser.

Which was probably why his limbs all felt like jelly and his heart was skipping beats. Fear of the unknown. Was he supposed to be this scared over the first meeting of his casual support group? Probably not.

But whatever. He was a nervous guy. Sue him.

The sound of laughter and chatting greeted him as he walked down the empty hall, his own footsteps muffled by the padding of the carpet. Lance smiled a little. It sounded like a good sign – like a promise from the universe to him. _This thing? This will be a good thing. Pinky swear._

God, he hoped those elusive cosmos would follow through.

Lance opened the door. The sight was unfamiliar but so, _so_ very pleasant.

Nevaeh sat with her feet kicked up on a table and a smirk on her face. She popped her gum intermittently as one of the two subs sat on either side of her shared some funny story or another.

And – Leo.

Leo sat at the table in front of the other three, but his chair was turned to face them. He, too, grinned wide and pearly-white.

Four. The number didn’t deflate Lance’s good mood in the slightest. Frankly, if Nevaeh hadn’t stepped in to help, he might have entered room B201 that evening to find only her.

Four was a wonderful starting point. He could work with four.

Lance straightened his shoulders. He flashed a toothy smile as he spoke and tried to instill as much friendly leadership into his tone as possible. “Hey, guys! Happy Monday.”

Four pairs of eyes turned toward him. Four smiles gave their own chipper greetings as Lance slung his bag off his shoulder and pulled out the chair next to Leo. Leo offered him a firm handshake.

“Wearing socks today?” The other boy winked as Lance dropped his hand back to his lap. A profuse blush colored Lance’s face. He responded with a nervous laugh and a jerking nod.

Leo laughed, loudly, head thrown back.

Nevaeh raised an eyebrow. “I’d like to hear the story behind that little joke.”

And despite his embarrassment, Lance still smiled.

 _Four._ What a nice number.


	55. [V] if you were to say to me, if you asked what's wrong with me

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It happened again.
> 
> Of course it did. Keith should have known better than to believe his debilitating panic attack was a one-time thing. He could be so fucking stupid sometimes, really.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is!! a new, angsty act just for u :) mwah!
> 
> enjoy!

 

**ACT FIVE: ISSUES**

**(chapters 55-79)**

 

* * *

 

["Issues" - James Durbin](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=P0NZE_nX6z0)

 

* * *

 

"We are all broken, that's how the light gets in." - Ernest Hemingway

 

* * *

 

It happened again.

Of course it did. Keith should have known better than to believe his debilitating panic attack was a one-time thing. He could be so fucking stupid sometimes, really.

He tried to keep himself quieter this time. Rather, he tried to block out the whimpers and gasps he couldn't control by leaving the sink running unused. A waste of water, perhaps, but he liked to think not waking Lance was worth it.

_Lance._

Lance, who had spent the entire Monday before treating Keith like he was something fragile. Lance, who walked on eggshells and kissed Keith's cheek twice as often as normal and looked at him through eyes that glistened with empathy and sorrow. Lance, who cared way too damn much for his own good.

The words went unspoken. Keith heard them, anyway. He received the silent message of solidarity Lance sent his way each and every time their gazes met. _I know how you feel. You aren't alone._

Lance squeezed his hand tight whenever he got the chance throughout the day. Held it as if in attempt to hold Keith together. 

Keith fell apart all the same.

He sat on the tile with his back to the door, knees drawn to his chest and head resting between them. That was supposed to help, right?

The bed creaked. Socks shuffled on the carpet. Keith stiffened. He braced himself for an attempted intrusion - one that never came.

Lance didn't knock. He didn't rattle the knob. He didn't even speak. 

Keith felt a second bodyweight settle against the door from the other side. Heard a soft, telltale thunk as Lance dropped his head back against the thin plank of wood that kept them apart.

The tears came without warning and with a vengeance. Keith was only grateful to his body that gross sobs did not accompany them. Lance sat with his back to the door the same way Keith did and extended silent support. How Keith actually managed to keep his pathetic waterworks from spiraling out of control, he would never know.

They both sat there, together but not together at all, and breathed.


	56. well i would tell you it's everything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Hey. You okay, man?"
> 
> Somebody nudged his shoulder, startling him out of his trance. Lance looked up with wide eyes to find Leo pulling a chair up to the table. The other sub frowned - an expression Lance couldn't recall ever seeing him wear during their senior year at the Garrison.
> 
> "Oh." He blinked down at the empty coffee cup before him. Lance didn't remember finishing his drink, either. Maybe he just had a terrible memory. "Yeah. I'm good. I think."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all seen lots of my edgy daughter, now are you ready to see more of my SUNSHINE SON

"Hey. You okay, man?"

Somebody nudged his shoulder, startling him out of his trance. Lance looked up with wide eyes to find Leo pulling a chair up to the table. The other sub frowned - an expression Lance couldn't recall ever seeing him wear during their senior year at the Garrison.

"Oh." He blinked down at the empty coffee cup before him. Lance didn't remember finishing his drink, either. Maybe he just had a terrible memory. "Yeah. I'm good. I think."

"You think? Doesn't sound too promising."

Lance tried to smile for his acquaintance. Keyword being _tried_. He didn't know how it looked to Leo, but it felt more like a grimace.

Had they known each other long enough for him to spill all his messy thoughts and feelings out on a coffee shop table and let Leo sort through them? Technically, yes; a year and one month was nothing to scoff at. He'd known Keith for just as long - but Lance and Leo were never friends. Leo had just given Lance his phone number for the first time not twenty-four hours previously. Hell, he didn't even know the guy's last name.

Too soon, then.

His mouth didn't receive the red-flag warning of _too personal! too deep!_ that his brain was desperately flashing. Lance parted his lips and the words tumbled free. 

"I'm worried about Keith." His jaw chomped audibly when he snapped it shut.

Leo frowned deeper. "Why? Is everything alright?"

"I...maybe?" Lance paused. "I don't know. I don't think so."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

Did he? To do so would feel like an invasion of Keith's privacy. The last thing he wanted to do was make his mate's private business public knowledge.

But Lance needed to _talk._ And for the first time ever, it was something he couldn't discuss with Keith.

Adam was not an option, either. To unload this on Adam would be to sic him on Keith. Sending Keith's father to breathe down his neck would definitely be taking it a step too far.

Leo, on the other hand, would not breathe down Keith's neck. The two barely knew each other.

Leo was the safest ground to stand on. Leo would not meddle. Leo was a neutral party. And, most importantly, Leo had a heart of gold and he was _there_ , ready and willing to listen. 

"Yeah," Lance said. "I kind of do want to talk about it."

" _Well._ " Leo rested a relaxed elbow on the back of his chair. "I'm here; talk your heart out."

"He's been locking himself in the bathroom at night." And dear Lord, Lance hadn't meant to be so forward with it, but Leo was an insanely easy person to talk to. The other sub's eyes were kind and held no trace of judgement. He nodded in encouragement and gestured for Lance to continue. "I think he might be...crying? I don't know. I can't tell. He won't let me see him, and he doesn't want to talk about it. But he's not okay. I know he's not. I just don't know what the _problem_ is."

Lance slumped in his seat with a loud, shaky exhale. He felt simultaneously like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders and like he'd done something terribly wrong. Like he'd betrayed Keith's trust by divulging that information with someone his Dom barely knew.

But it wasn't like Leo was going to go around starting gossip. Lance knew he wouldn't. He'd gotten awfully good at reading people over the past year, mostly as an unintentional survival mechanism. He took one glance at Leo's face and _knew_ every word he'd uttered was under lock and key in the other boy's head. 

Leo didn't seem to know how to respond. He winced, eyebrows drawn.

"Geez," he said quietly. "That's rough, man. I'm sorry."

Something in his tone gave Lance an odd feeling. A feeling like Leo wanted to say something and was holding it back. Lance was accustomed to people thinking (incorrectly) that they had to walk on eggshells around him, so he knew the tone well. 

"Leo." Lance fixed him with a firm look. Leo averted his gaze. "You were in school with him for four years. Has he ever - I mean - have you ever _seen_ -"

"Yes," Leo said. His eyes drifted hesitantly back to make contact. Lance felt a bone-deep chill at the pure empathy they held. "In freshman year. A little bit in sophomore year, too, but not nearly as bad. And then in junior year, he just faded into the background a lot, intentionally, so-"

" _Leo._ Please. What did you see?"

Leo gulped. "It wasn't just me. Everyone saw. That's why the entire school was terrified of him."

"Saw _what?"_

"He would have these...I guess they were panic attacks, or something, but not normal ones. It was always because some asshole kid or another provoked him, though."

"Provoked him?"

Leo shifted uncomfortably. "You know, saying bad things about his...his biological parents. Teasing him about being an orphan. Nasty stuff. I kind of never blamed him for reacting that way..."

Lance took a deep breath. Four, seven, eight.

"You don't have to be gentle with me," Lance said. "I'm not going to burst into tears. Just tell me about the panic attacks."

Leo at least had the grace to look mildly sheepish. "Sorry. I didn't mean to sound like - okay, yeah, sorry. The attacks. He would, uh, get pretty violent. Jump on whoever was being a dick and just...start beating the living shit out of them."

"... _oh._ "

"Yeah. But like I said, those kids said _nasty_ stuff. They kind of had it coming, you know? And it wasn't just violence for the hell of it. He never looked angry. He would be screaming and sobbing and shaking, and he wouldn't stop until a teacher or someone pulled him off. Usually took a few adults to restrain him."

Lance's head spun dangerously with the sudden load of new information. Still, it wasn't enough. He had a million and one questions and not nearly enough time before class to pick Leo's brain clean like he wanted to. He zeroed in on the question that screeched loudest for an answer. 

"How did he not get expelled?"

"Professors Wyler and Shirogane - his adoptive parents-"

"I know. I lived with them."

"Oh. Right, man, sorry. I'm sure they were pulling strings, or working free overtime, or _something_ for Iverson to let Keith stay. It happened, like, five times in freshman year, and once the next year. Anybody else would have been out on their ass the first time. They had to be bailing him out."

And despite the grim nature of their conversation, Lance smiled a little. "Sounds like something they'd do."

"They were always really good with Keith. That's how I knew there was some deeper stuff going on when he lost it. They would get called to wherever he was to come take him home - but they never got mad. They were all gentle and quiet, and they would just...calm him down. Hug him, let him cry all over their uniforms, help him control his breathing. That kind of thing. He was never in trouble with them for it. They understood some dark shit about him nobody else did."

Lance knew exactly what that _dark shit_ was, but he kept his mouth shut. If discussing this with Leo was to toe the line, then revealing Keith's past would be to slingshot himself over said line. 

"Thank you." Lance mustered up all the sincerity he could. "Seriously, Leo. This will help me help him. I owe you one."

Leo flashed a toothy smile and shrugged. 

"Nah." He waved a hand dismissively as he rose from his seat. "You don't owe me anything. I'm just glad I could help a friend out."

 _Friend_. Butterflies took flight in his gut. Having friends felt _awesome_.

"Still," Lance insisted. "If you ever need anything, just let me know, okay?"

"Yeah." Leo hummed and rubbed his chin in pseudo-pondering. "I might need to know where to find coffee-proof socks someday. You're right, man; I'll keep your favor in mind!"

"Oh...my God. Are we _still_ on the socks thing-"

"We're never going to not be on the socks thing."

"I panicked! I hadn't seen you in months, and I didn't even say the worst part out loud!"

"Seriously?" Leo's eyes grew wide with excitement. "What was the worst part?"

 _Well_. He dug himself into that one, didn't he?

"Leo, I swear, I'll sic Nevaeh on you."

"Okay, nevermind! I don't need to know. We're even."

"Good choice."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i dont know WHY,,,,i so often feel the need to end chapters in humor,,,but does anybody really have any complaints about sock jokes, be honest, you dont


	57. when i'm tired and feeling sick, when it's nothing you can fix

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dr. Heigel's friendly smile and soft voice felt like a breath of fresh air.
> 
> Was that a weird thing to think about your therapist? Probably. Lance honestly couldn't have cared less. After the month he'd had since their last session, this particular therapist might as well have been Jesus Christ reincarnated.

Dr. Heigel's friendly smile and soft voice felt like a breath of fresh air.

Was that a weird thing to think about your therapist? Probably. Lance honestly couldn't have cared less. After the month he'd had since their last session, this particular therapist might as well have been Jesus Christ reincarnated.

"How have you been, Lance?" Heigel asked kindly. Her notepad sat on the side table; she knew him well enough by that point to not need notes on his backstory. "You look stressed. Are you doing alright?"

"Kind of," Lance said. "It's...complicated."

Heigel hummed. Her eyes scanned him from head to toe. Lance knew assessing his physical appearance was part of her job, so he didn't shy away from her gaze the way he once would have.

"Well, complicated is my specialty." She smiled. "We have a whole hour. Let's uncomplicate it a little, hm?"

Lance exhaled slowly. "For starters - my dad's dying."

"I'm sorry to hear that."

"Why are you sorry? You remember all the crap I told you about him."

Heigel made a sad little noise. "I do remember. I'm sure it's still tough, though. He's been in your life as long as you've existed, and very soon, he won't be anymore. How long does he have?"

For all her sweetness, the doctor was as blunt as they came. She'd never pulled any punches. 

"My sister said six months tops when she broke the news." Lance stared at his lap. "So I guess no more than five now. I, uh...I did some research on his cancer type. He'll probably start - _deteriorating_ \- pretty soon."

"Are you scared to lose him?"

"Not really. Not him as a person. But like you said, he's always been around. I guess I'm just scared of the change."

"Understandable. It's a very big change. How's the rest of the family taking it?"

"Worse than I am."

"They're closer to him, I assume."

"Well - yeah. I guess. More like they're still under his spell."

"Could you elaborate on that?"

That was his least favorite question of hers. It also happened to be one of the most frequently asked. Lance knew he'd feel better in the end if he complied, though, so he did. 

"They still think he's not that bad. Like the way he treats them is normal or something. He's pretty much got them brainwashed."

"But not you."

"Not anymore. I got out. My brothers did the same thing. Once you see the real world, you realize how messed up he actually is. It just...changes _everything_."

Heigel was silent for a moment. Then, even softer than her regular soft, she asked, "Lance. Could you please look me in the eye? You don't have to, but I would appreciate it."

 _The eyes are the windows to the soul._ Lance knew she knew something else was bothering him. She just needed to take a quick peek into his soul for confirmation.

He slowly lifted his head and met her gaze. "You don't have to ask. Yes, something else is wrong."

The doctor smiled. "Clever as always, Mister McClain. What else is eating at you?"

 _Four, seven, eight._ Her eyes sparkled with something akin to pride when she recognized Lance using the 'calming breath' technique she'd introduced. 

"My Dom, Keith," he said. "I know he's not your patient or anything. I know you can't diagnose him just from my description, but he's not doing so good. Mentally, I mean. And he won't talk to me about it."

"If he won't talk to you about it, how do you know something's wrong?"

"He's waking up in the middle of the night and locking himself in the bathroom. I know what panic attacks sound like, and I know what general anxiety looks like. Trust me - something is _wrong._ "

"Have you considered asking him to see a professional, like you do?"

Lance blinked. 

"I can honestly say I haven't."

The idea never crossed his mind because it wasn't a plausible one. Was it what Keith needed? Probably. But it wasn't what Keith _wanted_ , and therefore the _needed_ was next to worthless. In Keith's mind, at least. Lance held another opinion on the matter entirely.

"It might help." Heigel offered a casual shrug. "If anyone can get a Dom to try something they're hesitant about, it's their sub."

Lance still had his doubts. She likely didn't understand how infuriatingly _stubborn_ a Kogane could be. Nevertheless, the corners of his lips twitched upwards. 

"You're not wrong," he said.

"Of course I'm not. Now - your medication. Is it still working alright?"

"Yup. Still as anti-depressing as ever."

"And you're sleeping well?"

"Perfectly." _Besides my Dom accidentally waking me up when he sneaks off to have secret panic attacks in the bathroom. Pretty sure that's not what you meant, though._

"Very good. With everything that's going on, do you think monthly visits are still enough? We could move to bi-monthly - or even back to weekly, if you'd like. Nothing wrong with needing some extra help."

Bi-monthly sounded heavenly to Lance. His schedule screeched in disagreement. "Monthly is fine."

"Alright." Heigel eyed him. She often appraised him for signs that he might not be telling the whole truth, and she had no qualm with him knowing as much. "You can always give me a call here at the office if you change your mind."

"Of course." He wasn't going to.

"You still have forty-five minutes. Is there anything else you'd like to talk about?"

"Oh, _God_ , yes. I'm a literal trainwreck. My life is the track and it's on fire. Please help."

She laughed, tinkling and light. He felt more than a little smug that his mildly sad joke had earned its intended response.

"It's a shame your Dom isn't in therapy. We kind of have fun in here, don't we?"

"I think Keith would like you. I really do."

"I think I would like Keith."

Too bad they'd probably never find out.


	58. i want you to know it's not you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith startled from sleep with a scream halfway lodged in his throat. Terror coursed through his veins. His legs were leaden, too heavy to move.
> 
> Get to the bathroom lock the door don't let him see you like this go go go.
> 
> He couldn't. Something about the dream - the nightmare - had paralyzed him. Perhaps it was the phantom feeling of his hand being held to a hot stove, the sounds of his own bloodcurdling screams and begs for mercy all the while, carved permanently into his memory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTENT WARNING: there are some relatively graphic memories of child abuse here - specifically of an adult burning a child on a stove, described in details that might make weaker stomachs churn. there is also a non-graphic implication of an adult using a belt to beat a child. 
> 
> if you're sensitive to these kinds of things, please proceed with caution.

He didn't make it to his bathroom hideaway in time. 

Keith startled from sleep with a scream halfway lodged in his throat. Terror coursed through his veins. His legs were leaden, too heavy to move.

_Get to the bathroom lock the door don't let him see you like this go go go._

He couldn't. Something about the dream - the _nightmare_ \- had paralyzed him. Perhaps it was the phantom feeling of his hand being held to a hot stove, the sounds of his own bloodcurdling screams and begs for mercy all the while, carved permanently into his memory. 

Or maybe it was the image of a woman advancing toward him, her sub's leather work belt in hand, while he scrambled across the floor away from her, begged and pleaded and bargained, _I'll be better I swear I'll only get A's no more B's I promise oh God please don't._

Could have been anything, really. He rarely dreamed in coherent form anymore. Every night was a blurred mess, a thousand moments of agony running together like watercolor paints. For some unidentifiable reason, this night's painting was the worst of them all. 

Whatever it was that trapped him on the bed, frozen in horror, Keith wanted to offer a big ol' _fuck you_ to that specific memory. It prevented him from doing what he damn well knew he should. It prevented him from emotionally protecting his sub.

His most important job. A _simple_ job. And he couldn't even do it right. 

Maybe it wasn't a memory of pain itself that paralyzed him. Maybe what really shook Keith to the core was the concept that he deserved said memories. That the adults who harmed him were correct all along. That he was worthless.

Was he?

"Keith?"

He didn't make it in time. He didn't make it in time. He didn't make it in time.

The scream was still stuck in his throat, and his lungs burned for air. Keith released the sound. It must have weakened while it waited in his airway, because it presented as a pitiful sob. He gasped for breath. All the oxygen in the world wouldn't be enough to satisfy him.

He finally found his right mind and with it, his ability to roll out of bed and stumble away - but by that point, he couldn't. Two slim, trembling hands were pressed to his chest, holding him flat. Ocean eyes, swelling with despair, pierced through the darkness to find him.

" _Keith._ Oh, Keith, honey...shh, _shh_..."

Keith choked on the word. "Lance."

"It's me. I'm here, baby, I've got you. Shh. Please don't cry. _Shh_."

Don't cry? He wasn't -

Lips pressed with excessive care beneath each of his eyes. They smudged something wet. Saltwater moved across his face.

Oh. He was.

" _Lance_ ," Keith gasped, then thrashed momentarily against the hands that held him in place. Lance faltered but never lost his grip. He placed a knee on Keith's thigh, likely for additional leverage. "C-can't...breathe. I can't breathe, I... _Lance_. Help. God - _help_."

"You need to stop moving first, baby." Lance's voice shook as he whispered. "You're hurting yourself. _Keith_. Honey, please. Please stop."

"What? I'm _n-not_...not..."

Lance hesitated, then lifted a hand from Keith's chest. He grasped his Dom's left arm - and Keith realized what he was talking about.

First he failed to notice he was in tears. Now it was brought to his attention that he was scratching savagely at his own forearms. He attacked them without mercy, and without feeling any of it. Thin, shallow scrapes welled with blood.

"Look." Lance held Keith's arm in his line of sight. Even in the dark, he could make out the mild damage. "You are, baby. You're hurting yourself. Stop scratching and I'll stop holding you down. Okay?"

"'M not scratchin' anymore." A whine of desperation tore itself from his throat. Keith turned his head to the side to break eye contact. "Let me up. _Lance_. Can't breathe, I can't b-breathe."

" _Shh_. You can, Keith. I promise. You can breathe."

" _No._ No, I'm not - I can't-"

He didn't make it in time. He let Lance down. He was allowing his sub to take care of _him_ rather than the other way around, as it was meant to be. He didn't make it in time. He was a failure, failure, _failure._

Lance switched gears completely. He removed his hands from Keith's chest and replaced them with the warm weight of his own torso. He buried his nose in Keith's hair and made the same genre of cooing sounds one might make to soothe an infant.

"Do you feel me breathing?" Lance whispered. Keith gave a jerky nod and closed his eyes. If he couldn't get away, he could at least do what his sub wanted to avoid upsetting him further. He allowed the pressure of Lance's body to ground him in reality and tried to concentrate on the motion of his sub's lungs.

"That's good, baby. Follow along, okay? Just like that. Good, Keith, you're doing so well. I'm here. Just keep breathing. I'm right here."

His breaths did pace themselves out, eventually. It came as an overwhelming relief - his only relief in the situation. Lance whispered praises and reassurances in his ear all the while. Keith felt disgusted at himself for the calm it brought him.

Lance shouldn't have to _do_ that. That wasn't his job. Why was he so insistent on caring for the spineless, pathetic man he was unfortunate enough to call his Dom?

 _You deserve this,_ the foster man had hissed all those years ago, Keith screaming as the scent of his own burning flesh hit his nostrils. He still couldn't touch even a cold stovetop without shuddering (because he was weak, pathetic, childish.) _You deserve this. You're worthless. I wish you'd fucking die already. You deserve this, kid, every fucking second of it._

"I'm here, Keith. I'm here."

Keith exhaled, steady and firm.

_You deserve this. You're worthless._

"I know."


	59. cause i will never be okay, this i know but that's okay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It came as a shock to Lance that his heart was not audible when it shattered.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OKAY. quick update on the posting this weekend.
> 
> so there was that one day this week I didnt post anything, and 58 was already drafted and ready to go but last night I fell asleep before posting it, so only 2 got up yesterday. that means I have 4 chapters to make up this weekend. 
> 
> I'm doing the regular 3 chapters today. I took a paid mental health day off today so I'm home and available to post more, but I know the rest of y'all still have school and work and things today. i'd rather give you more chapters on the weekend than torture you with a bunch of email notifications for chapters you cant read yet bc you're busy. 
> 
> then tomorrow and Sunday, to make up the missing chapters, I'll post 5 a day. thus we'll be back on track.
> 
> please keep in mind the 3 a day thing is a TENTATIVE update schedule for r:bomb, not a solid one like for hlp. I'd like to get this story completed within the next 3 months, which is pretty much where 3 chapters a day puts us, but life happens and I won't always have the time to transfer the chapters from paper to the computer and draft them. i'm def gonna do what I can tho - y'all are SO loyal to my writing and you deserve frequent updates! plus I'm literally addicted to writing this series so like,,,,win-win
> 
> enjoy this chapter! another one will be up in the evening!

It came as a shock to Lance that his heart was not audible when it shattered.

And God, did it shatter. A million tiny slivers spread like demented confetti all over their dorm. Suddenly, Lance understood why Keith hadn't wanted his sub to see him in the midst of an attack.

Not that he agreed with the concept any more than he had a few days before. He was still very much on the _let me help you_ train. But he understood.

He understood because the image of Keith in that wretched state, writhing in terror and clawing blood from his own skin, _begging_ for Lance to help him breathe - he had no doubt that scene would follow him to his grave. He wondered if Keith felt the same swirl of helplessness and despair every time his sub began to spiral. 

The more Lance considered it, the more likely it seemed. That had to be why Keith wanted to shield the mate he'd sworn to protect from this gruesome reality. He knew from abundant experience how it felt to watch the man he loved suffer night after day after night again. He didn't _want_ Lance to know what that felt like.

It didn't feel very good.

Honestly? Lance felt like _shit._

Keith was so much worse off than he originally thought. Here Lance was, dipping his toes in the water and gathering opinions from various sources, as if he had all the time in the world to wait. As if Keith's well-being wasn't the mother of all urgent matters.

And in the meantime, Keith was doing - _this_. Alone.

Alone by choice, in fairness. But alone all the same.

With some coaxing, Keith drifted off into a reluctant sleep. His face stayed pale and pinched, brows drawn together, lips hooked downwards. Lance remained lying on top of his Dom and rubbed the pads of his thumbs over each mouth corner, each eyelid, each temple. He took inventory of every little feature. Even in sorrow, Keith was innately beautiful.

"I love you," Lance breathed against the shell of his mate's ear. Hot, watery pinpricks sparked at the backs of his eyes. "I'm sorry, baby. I'm _so_ sorry. I should have known."

How could he have missed it? Lance had experienced such severe panic attacks himself many times. He was no stranger to clawing his skin open in the hopes of climbing out of it so he could _breathe_. Nor to being so far lost in all-consuming terror that he hardly recognized the world around him.

Yet he hadn't seen how close Keith was to reaching that severity. And now, it was far too late to fix it. Lance had to live with that. Just another weight to throw in with the ever-growing pile he carried around on his shoulders.

Keith squirmed beneath the gentle ministrations, and Lance froze. The Dom didn't wake. He only sighed through his nose, made an attempt to shift impossibly closer, and stilled.

Lance knew, with a sinking heart, that he was going to have to change his own mind about something. He cautiously reached to retrieve his phone from the nightstand and found _dork wyler_ in his messages. 

 

> _You: text me in the AM. we need to talk._


	60. cause my eyes are never shut while my heart is wide awake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Adam tensed for the briefest of moments. Then he offered the younger Dom at his side a carefree smile. 
> 
> Convincing - but not quite convincing enough. Keith sensed an odd smell in the air, and it smelled like absolute bullshit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy the last chapter of the day! remember you're getting 5 tomorrow!

"...okay, _seriously._ What's the catch?"

Adam tensed for the briefest of moments. Then he offered the younger Dom at his side a carefree smile.

Convincing - but not quite convincing enough. Keith sensed an odd smell in the air, and it smelled like absolute bullshit.

"What do you mean?" Adam asked. "I just want to spend some time with my son, see his fancy new college. Is that not okay?"

"It _would_ be okay, if that were actually the reason you came."

Adam quirked a brow. "Well, what else do you think I'm here for?"

 _No_. Nuh-uh. Keith was not about to play that game. He was exhausted, strung out, and not in the goddamn mood. Absolutely the fuck _not._

"Save it," he snapped, and tried very hard not to feel guilty for the surprised hurt that flashed across his father's face. "I'm not playing. What do you want?"

"Not everybody wants something from you, Keith," Adam said quietly. His stare was intense enough that Keith had to look away. "Sometimes people just want _you._ "

Keith knew that. He really did. He was just...finding it pretty damn difficult to believe lately.

Why him? Of all the billions of people on the planet to choose from, who in their right mind would want - _him?_

"Sorry," Keith said to his feet as they shuffled down the walkway, and stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I didn't mean that."

Adam squeezed his shoulder, then brought the hand to his back and rubbed firmly. "I know you didn't, son. You're stressed with school. I get it. College can be a big step."

A bitter chuckle bubbled up his throat before he could stop it. Keith caught it halfway through and swallowed the rest. "Yeah. Yeah, it's really stressful. College."

Adam was silent. Keith risked a glance from his peripheral vision. His father, too, walked with eyes downcast. His pursed-tight lips were a telltale sign: he had something to say, and he was on the fence.

He opened his mouth to speak. Keith beat him to it.

"Lance says that's our fountain." Keith nodded toward the familiar landmark as they passed. "It's where we meet after class."

"Keith."

"I don't know why he thinks we can just go around claiming things like lakes and fountains, but it's actually pretty fucking cute, so I'm not complaining."

"Keith."

"They're all related to water for some reason. Maybe he'll find us a special Keith and Lance rain gutter next-"

_"Keith."_

Adam held his son's bicep in a white-knuckled grip and paused in the middle of the walkway. Keith stopped, too. Mostly because his father's hold gave him no say in the matter.

Too tight. Too tight. Too fucking _tight._

"Look at me," Adam commanded when Keith made a point of keeping his gaze averted. "I'm serious, son. _Look_ at me."

Keith's fingers trembled and, to his horror, as did his bottom lip. His chest suddenly felt far tighter than it had any right to be.

He spoke in a near-whisper. "L-let go. Please. Let go of me."

Adam dropped Keith's arm as if it suddenly hurt his hand to touch. Even from the mere edge of Keith's vision, the apology and apprehension on Adam's face were plain to see.

"I'm sorry," Adam said. "I didn't mean to frighten you. Are you okay?"

" _Frighten_ me? Who's _frightened?_ I'm fucking fine, thanks."

"You said 'please.'"

"So what? I have manners!"

"You really don't."

Keith was glad his hands were already buried in his pockets. Adam couldn't see his fingers curling to form fists. 

"He told you." Keith's voice was firm as steel and icy cold. It wasn't a question, and they both knew it. "He actually fucking told you."

Adam shifted his weight. His eyes darted around as if the lush scenery could provide a response or an excuse. The nervous fidgets were all the confirmation Keith needed.

"Who told me what, son?"

"Don't play dumb! I'm not fucking stupid, Adam!"

At Keith's anger, Adam refocused. He met Keith's eyes again, expression hard.

"Keith Kogane," he said in a low tone. "I don't care how old you get - you may not speak to me that way."

Keith didn't bother trying to swallow the laugh this time. He let it loose in full measure. "So everyone's talking about me behind my back. What, are you going to lock me up in an insane asylum? Are we going back to the 1900's?"

Adam sighed. His shoulders dropped, as did his oblivious façade.

"Don't be ridiculous. There's no need for all this drama. Lance is worried, son, and he's only trying to help."

"So he did tell you."

"...yes. Yes, he did."

"Oh, that's great. Now you all know I'm a weak piece of shit. Fucking fantastic."

The words were uttered mostly to himself. Adam flinched, his annoyance giving way to a concern so intense it made Keith want to double over and vomit. The younger Dom ran fingers through his hair and tugged until it was painful, pacing a few steps away.

"Keith..." Adam said quietly. "It's - it's _this_ , son. The way you're talking right now. This is why we're worried about you."

"Telling the fucking truth is something to be worried about? Aren't you supposed to be a science teacher?"

Adam took a step toward him, hand outreached as if to touch, eyes brimmed with sorrow. Keith tensed on instinct and leaned away. The reaction did nothing to ease his father's sadness. 

"That's so far from the truth." Adam reluctantly dropped his hand. It twitched at his side in longing. "You're a damn strong young man, Keith. I knew it the first day Shiro and I met you. And I'm incredibly proud of you for taking your life back, for taking such good care of Lance..."

Keith held his grips in his own hair, despite the headache starting to pound in his temples. He angled his body away so he wouldn't have to see his father in any capacity. "But?"

Adam took a deep breath. The exhale shuddered.

"But maybe you've been strong for too long. Maybe it's time to - to let yourself be weak for a little while."

Keith was infuriated with himself for the way his eyes stung and welled. He clenched his jaw hard enough to make his teeth ache. His voice broke. "Stop it."

"No. Just think about it, son. Think about your father and I. I struggle sometimes. He still trusts me. He still relies on me, and I still take care of him. He takes care of me every now and again, too. Do you think I'm a bad Dom?"

"Adam."

"Do you think I'm a bad Dom?"

" _No._ No, okay? You're - you're fucking awesome."

Adam's lips twitched into a bittersweet smile. "And so are you. Lance thinks so, and so does Shiro, and so do I. It can't be a coincidence that three people you think are _fucking awesome_ love you so much, right?"

"I don't...I don't know."

"Well, I do know, and it's not. It's _not_ , Keith. Amazing people are drawn to you because _you_ are an amazing person. You deserve to believe that."

Blood pounded in Keith's ears. He swallowed through a cotton-dry mouth, and blinked his eyes furiously until the hot saltwater ran no risk of making an appearance.

"So what am I supposed to do?" Keith whispered. He untangled his fingers from his hair. They hung limp and awkward at his sides.

"Well - Lance and I were talking, and we both think you could benefit from...professional help. The doctor Lance sees has a few spots open, and she'd love to meet you."

Keith had no rhyme or reason for the red that suddenly flashed over his vision. He knew he didn't. The knowledge that it was unwarranted did nothing to stop rage from overwhelming him, nor did it help him control his reaction.

He felt like he was fourteen again, entirely under the influence of terror and fury, a slave to his own overly intense emotions. The only difference was that, with the slight maturity increase as he aged, it was easier to keep his hands from lashing out the way they once might have.

His tongue was another story entirely.

"Fuck you," Keith spat. He turned his head sharply and fixed Adam with a flaming glare. "Honestly, _fuck_ you. Who the fuck do you think you are?"

Adam didn't look angry or reproachful. He didn't even look hurt. His expression contained nothing but blatant concern and longing. His inability to be fazed only stoked Keith's internal fire. 

"I just want to help." Adam held eye contact. He didn't waver for a second. "I'm not trying to be intrusive. You're so important to me, Keith. I just want you to be happy."

Maybe the memory of those words would find Keith later, once his anger was quenched, and worm their way into his heart through the soft spot Adam held there. In that moment, they did no such thing. The affection might as well have been gasoline.

"Leave." Keith backed away a few steps. "You shouldn't have fucking come here."

"Keith. Calm down for a moment. Where are you going?"

"To talk to my sub."

Adam's eyes flashed. An inkling of the firmness returned. "Don't you dare take your anger at me home to Lance. He doesn't deserve that."

"Maybe you should mind your own goddamn business."

Keith turned on his heel and marched off down the path. He ignored the single call of his name. Adam didn't follow.

There was a more important conversation to be had.


	61. and it's all that i can do (tell me, what else should i do?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith would never raise a hand against him. Lance believed that down to his very soul. Even in such a tense moment, he had not the slightest fear of being hit. 
> 
> But words could do just as much damage. If not more.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all should know that watching you all spaz out in the comment section last night was highly amusing for me :)))
> 
> enjoy!

> _dork wyler: Keith's on his way back._
> 
> _You: oh no...that didn't take long. everything okay?_
> 
> _dork wyler: He didn't take it well. I'm so sorry. Call me later, okay?_
> 
> _You: why are you sorry??_

The answer to his question was immediate - but it didn't come from Adam.

Lance startled from where he sat on the bed as the door flew open, then winced when it slammed shut. Keith's eyes were on him in an instant, and they were alight. Lance gulped.

Well, _that_ explained it.

"Hey." Lance kept his words soft and slowly rose to his feet. He offered a hesitant smile. "I thought you were going to spend some time with Adam. Is everything okay?"

"Don't act all innocent." Keith's voice was low, accompanied by an undercurrent of growls. "You know what you did."

The accusatory tone made Lance bristle slightly. He pressed down the urge to jump to his own defense. His choice was a valid and correct one, he had no doubt. It would be childish to address that first, though. His ego was hardly the most important thing.

"I understand why you're mad," Lance said quietly. "And I'm _so_ sorry. I didn't want to invade your privacy, but... _Keith_. You really scared me last night. I didn't know what else to do."

"That's not an excuse!"

Keith didn't speak scarily quiet anymore. He roared the words, throwing his hands in the air in a gesture of exasperation.

Lance frowned. "I don't need an excuse. I didn't do anything wrong."

"Like fuck you didn't."

"Just because you don't like the choice I made doesn't make it morally-"

Keith turned and slammed his hands down on the dresser top. The sound echoed in their small dorm. Lance lowered his eyes and shoulders at once. Though he knew he'd done no wrong, his Dom's anger incited a conflicting sense of shame. Brain chemistry really sucked sometimes.

"Stop talking." Yet another change of mood. Keith stood with his back turned and spoke in level monotone. "You need to stop talking _now_."

Lance would be lying if he said that didn't send a shiver down his spine.

He knew Keith well enough to hear the unspoken plea in his command. _Please don't make me any angrier; I might do something I'll regret._

Keith would never raise a hand against him. Lance believed that down to his very soul. Even in such a tense moment, he had not the slightest fear of being hit.

But words could do just as much damage. If not more.

Lance opened his mouth to offer a humble, _yes, Sir,_ then closed it when he remembered the very command was to not speak.

"This was never any of your business in the first place," Keith finally said after a long minute of silence. He was much calmer, but still wrought with tension. Lance could see his fingers tremble on the dresser's surface. "Let alone _Adam's_ business. You had no right to tell him something you weren't even supposed to know."

Lance took the risk and opened his mouth. "May I ask a question, Sir?"

"You may."

The sub exhaled with relief. "Why didn't you want me to know?"

Keith fell silent. For a moment, Lance feared he'd made his Dom angry again - or, even worse, made him _sad._ Then Keith turned to look at him, eyes still lit with a decent amount of anger but no longer ablaze, and that fear dissipated. 

"Like I said," Keith near-whispered. "This is none of your business. You shouldn't have to deal with it."

"I disagree, Sir."

"Lance, I swear to God. Don't test me right now."

Lance took a hesitant step forward. Keith's eyes flickered briefly toward his sub's feet, but he made no comment. Lance regarded the silence as a good sign. He took a second step. 

"This isn't you." He shook his head. "The way you're acting right now? That's not the Keith Kogane I fell in love with."

"Guess you don't know me as well as you thought."

There was no truth in that statement. It stung a little, anyways. 

"I know you better than anyone." Lance took a third step. The closer he got to closing the distance between them, the more visibly tense Keith grew. "You're not really angry right now, Keith. You might think you are, but you're not."

"Oh, really?" Keith laughed bitterly. "Go ahead, Lance. Why don't _you_ tell me how _I'm_ feeling right now? Please, enlighten me."

Lance took his sarcastic invitation with all the seriousness in the world.

"Scared."

"What the hell do you think I'm scared of?"

"Yourself." A fourth step. A marginally more tense set of shoulders. "Your dreams, and your memories. Your feelings. Your life."

"That's - I'm not scared of myself. That's fucking stupid. I'm not-"

"You are. You are, and you know it. You're just too stubborn to admit it."

Lance knew he was treading into dangerous waters. Not only interrupting Keith, but calling him out on his stubbornness - they weren't the smartest choices to make when his Dom's patience was already wearing thin.

He didn't care. Sometimes you have to do something a little dangerous to get the point across.

"Lance." Keith's fire flared again. " _Enough_. Stop it."

"No. Not until you admit you need help."

"Don't disobey me, Lance, or-"

"Or what? You'll punish me?" Lance shrugged. "Go ahead. I don't care. I'm not letting this go. I'm not letting you walk through this alone."

Keith hesitated. Lance knew why, and he felt a rush of relief and triumph to have it confirmed. 

He wasn't going to be punished. Keith would never punish him without a solid justification - and that was something he didn't have in that moment. What could Lance possibly be punished for? For caring? For trying to help? For loving his Dom? Not exactly a set of discipline-worthy offenses.

"There's nothing to walk through," Keith said slowly, the rickety edge of his anger faltering. "It's just - I'm _stressed,_ okay? Some people have bad dreams when they're stressed. No big deal."

"Yeah. Some people do." A fifth step. Keith's hands began to shake. Lance wanted nothing more than to hold them steady; to refrain from doing so was almost painful. "But most of those people don't wake up from their bad dreams having severe panic attacks. Most of them don't walk around all day with constant anxiety."

"Neither do-"

"Yes, Keith. You do. You're jittery, and quiet, and you're always looking over your shoulder. You're feeling anxiety. You _have_ anxiety."

"You don't know what you're talking about."

"Remember how my life was when we met? Think about what I was going through, Keith. I want you to look me in the eye and say that again. Look at me and tell me I don't know what I'm talking about."

The Dom's rollercoaster of rising and falling fury clicked up yet another steep hill, just as Lance had suspected it would (but hoped it wouldn't.) Keith released a half-growl, half-shout of frustration and squeezed his eyes shut, avoiding Lance's attempts to make the requested contact. His fingers pulled tight enough at his hair that Lance felt a jolting urge to forcibly remove them. He didn't. The sub only watched and waited.

"I'm _done_ with all this bullshit!" Keith snarled through curled lips. "Why does everyone want to fucking control my life for me? For the last goddamn time, I'm _fine!"_

Lance didn't mean for it to happen. He knew Keith didn't, either. But happen, it did.

Keith's eyes snapped open on the last word. He ripped his hands from mussed hair and left them to linger half-curled into fists in the air. Then, wearing easily the most enraged expression Lance had ever seen on that face he so loved, he took several steps forward. Several march-esque steps. Several steps that held no true threat, but something about them rang familiar to Lance, and combined with two anger-trembling hands held in the air -

 _Well._ Lance had his fair share of traumatic experiences, too. He couldn't help his panic reactions any more than Keith could.

The progress he'd gradually made toward closing the distance, toward coaxing his Dom into being held and calmed, was dashed in an instant. Lance flinched violently. A gasp and a sharp cry of fear were ripped from his throat in rapid succession. He stumbled back the five steps and then some.

It took him all but half a second to remember exactly _who_ this person advancing toward him was. The fear vanished entirely as soon as his mind caught up. _Keith. Just Keith. You're safe, safe, safe._

The fear vanished - but the damage was done.

Lance was partial to the phrase 'as if someone had just kicked his puppy.' It wasn't strong enough, though, to describe how utterly _destroyed_ Keith looked when Lance reopened his eyes.

He looked like someone had just kicked a _thousand_ puppies. He looked like somebody had somehow rounded up every puppy in the world and shot them all execution-style, and he'd been forced to watch. No - that still didn't do it justice. No analogy could. No _word_ could.

Lance decided in an instant that he never wanted to see that agonized look on Keith's face ever again. And, more importantly, that he would tear the entire universe limb from limb to prevent it.

"Keith..." Lance breathed. He hoped his twisted expression and watering eyes were enough to convey his sorrow. "That wasn't...baby, I'm not-"

"I'm so sorry." Keith whispered low enough that Lance strained to make out the words. "Oh, God. _Lance_. Sweetheart. I wasn't going to-"

"I know you weren't. I-I know."

"I'm sorry. I didn't...I wasn't trying to scare you."

"I know."

"I would _never_ hurt you. Never. I wouldn't."

"I know, Keith."

"I'm _sorry_."

They averted their gazes to opposing spots on the carpet in unison.

Lance closed his eyes again, this time to steady himself. Four, seven, eight. Four, seven, eight. Four, seven, eight.

He wondered if Keith had ever tried Heigel's calming breaths.

(Maybe he should teach him.)

Lance resigned himself to clearing his schedule for the rest of the day. Or at least for the next few hours.

They had a _lot_ to talk about.


	62. there were smiles, there were tears, there are times through the years

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith wore some unreadable form of fear, accompanied by a very readable remorse. Lance tried to imagine what his Dom might be fearful of. It almost looked like a paranoia - as if he was terrified Lance would, at any moment, retract his forgiveness, throw his collar to the ground, and walk away forever.
> 
> 'Don't have anxiety' his ass.

"I'm sorry."

"I know you are. I already told you, I forgive you."

"I can't believe I...I'm just..."

"You don't have to explain. I understand. It's really okay now, I swear."

"I'm so fucking so-"

" _Keith_." Lance allowed his eyes to flutter closed for a moment as he filled his lungs to capacity. "Please, stop apologizing. I know you're sorry. I know it didn't mean anything. I forgive you. It's _okay_."

He opened his eyes. Sitting right in front of him on the bed, Keith wore some unreadable form of fear, accompanied by a very readable remorse. Lance tried to imagine what his Dom might be fearful of. It almost looked like a paranoia - as if he was terrified Lance would, at any moment, retract his forgiveness, throw his collar to the ground, and walk away forever. Which was _definitely_ a paranoia, seeing as it was literally impossible for Lance to even consider leaving him.

'Don't have anxiety' his _ass._

Keith opened his mouth, then closed it. He repeated the process several times. A fish out of water, searching desperately for life. Flopping. Lance spared him the trouble.

"I think this kind of proves me and Adam's point," Lance said quietly. He wrapped his fingers around one of Keith's still-shaking hands. Keith squeezed back even tighter. "This isn't normal, Keith. You can't just pretend nothing's wrong until you explode. This isn't healthy."

Keith visibly swallowed. "I know. You're right; it's not. I know."

"You need to talk to somebody. You need _help_."

It was the Dom's turn to close his eyes, to block out Lance's soul-searching gaze. He kept them shut as he spoke. "You want me to see a therapist."

Lance placed a hand on the side of Keith's face. He leaned in to whisper his words near the other's ear, as if that would help him better absorb them.

"Yes. I really think it would help. But, first..." Lance pulled back to meet Keith's eyes as they reopened. "I want you to talk to _me_. I want you to tell me everything. You should have a long time ago."

"I didn't want to upset you."

"For future reference? I would have been five times less upset if you'd told me the truth from the start."

Keith winced. "Noted."

"Good. Now, _please_ \- talk to me. When did it start?"

"The dreams, or the...'anxiety'?"

Lance blinked. "Did they start at different times?"

"Yeah."

"Oh." Exactly how long had Keith kept him out of the loop? "I guess both, then."

"They both happened all the time, when I was younger. Didn't really slow down until a few months before I met you. This time, I...I guess the anxiety started the night Veronica showed up at the house."

Lance sucked in a harsh breath. Keith looked at him with hesitance, as if he wasn't sure he'd made the right choice in admitting that.

"That long?" Lance asked. Keith nodded. "Okay. Well. Thank you for telling me the truth. And the dreams?"

Keith squirmed a little and studied his perpetually unkept nails. "I get them every couple of months, but not usually this bad. These bad ones have been around for...like, a week? Maybe six days. No longer than eight."

Lance's relieved sigh was audible.

"Do the panic attacks happen during the day?"

"No. Only after the dreams."

"Okay. This is good, Keith, that you're telling me these things. Thank you."

"Uh-huh."

Lance pulled Keith in for a hug, resting his chin on the Dom's shoulder. Keith's arms wrapped around his waist instinctively to hold him in a protective embrace. Though they were sailing off into unmapped seas, Lance found comfort in the familiarity of the physical.

"Do you need to take a break?" He asked.

Keith spoke into Lance's hair. "No. I just want to get it over with. What else do you need to know?"

"Tell me if you need to stop, okay? If it starts to be too much. I won't mind."

"Yeah. I will. Come on, next question."

Four, seven, eight.

"Do you have any idea what might have triggered the dreams? If anything did."

Keith stiffened against him. "I know exactly what triggered them."

 _Uh-oh._ A small part of Lance regretted asking. Did he really want to hear the answer?

No; he didn't. He nodded, anyway.

"And it was...?"

"Alexander."

Lance inhaled. The breath rattled in his lungs. He definitely regretted asking.

Not really, though - because although the conversation had just gotten much suckier, it was important. Keith _had_ to let it out. And that meant Lance had to listen.

"Okay." He gulped. "So, um...was it when he, like, almost hit my mom, and you stopped him? Did that remind you of - being hit?"

Keith nodded faintly. "Yeah. I mean, worse stuff than being hit. But yeah."

"Worse stuff?"

"No. We're not going there. I'm not getting into the shitty fucking foster care system and its incompetence. Not today."

"Hey, hey. Okay. That's fine. I'm not going to make you relive that. Calm down. Deep breaths."

"I am calm." Keith flinched suddenly, as if he'd just realized how erratic his breath was. "Mostly."

"Okay. That's all I wanted to know. Thank you."

Keith was silent. He tapped a finger nervously against Lance's back.

"Babe?" Lance asked. The only downside to their embrace was his inability to see his mate's face. "Did you want to talk about something else?"

"You've heard enough of my shit today."

"Keith. Do you want to talk about something else?"

"It's fine."

"No, it's not. We _just_ learned our lesson about bottling things up. What's wrong?"

Keith pulled out of the hug. Lance tried to keep his disappointment off his face. The last thing he wanted to do was smother the person he was trying to help.

"I just - I hate how angry I got." Keith looked pointedly at the bedspread. "That wasn't okay. And I know you forgave me, and you're fine, but...isn't that how it always starts?"

"How what starts?"

"Abuse. Abusers."

Lance stared, jaw dropped and eyes wide. "No. Don't you dare start thinking like that. You're not an abuser. You never have been, and you never will be."

"That's the thing, though. They all say that at first. 'I didn't mean it' or 'I wasn't really going to do anything.' And people believe them and forgive them. Then - all downhill from there."

Lance placed a firm hand on Keith's shoulder and shook. "That's not you. You're not them. Were you thinking about hurting me? Even for a nanosecond, did you consider it?"

" _No._ God, no."

"Exactly. Because you never would."

Some semblance of logic must have found Keith under his pile of rubble and emotions. He finally looked at Lance and nodded, eyes significantly less tortured than a few minutes before.

"I wouldn't," Keith said. "I'd never hurt you."

Lance smiled. "I know. Hey, while we're talking about this - can I ask you to do something?"

"Anything." Keith sat up straight, eager and earnest. "What do you need?"

"I want you to make an appointment with Dr. Heigel. Just once, alright? And if it doesn't help, I'll never ask again."

"I...fine. I can - just try it, I guess. For you."

Lance shook his head. "Don't do it for me. Do it for you. Okay?"

"...okay."


	63. where i cannot remember yesterday

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His phone pinged. He was sitting up straight in an instant, alert with wide eyes and a pounding heart. For all he knew, that could be Keith, camping out under a stairwell somewhere as he panicked and texted his sub for help. Lance scrambled for the phone and yanked it off the charger.
> 
> He was simultaneously filled with relief and dread.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> if y'all think i'm gettin soft with my angst,,,i regret (read: am actually very pleased) to inform you that i'm only easing you into it. 
> 
> just wait until we hit the midpoint. and oh dear god...wait until the THIRD hlp. what have you done to yourselves, getting attached to this series? you poor...poor souls...
> 
> :)
> 
> enjoy! <3

Lance stretched and laid back on the bed, sighing as he sank into blissfully cool pillows. He was not only prepared for but deserving of a thousand-year nap.

His phone pinged. He was sitting up straight in an instant, alert with wide eyes and a pounding heart. For all he knew, that could be Keith, camping out under a stairwell somewhere as he panicked and texted his sub for help. Lance scrambled for the phone and yanked it off the charger.

He was simultaneously filled with relief and dread. It wasn't Keith, thank God. Keith was probably still at the library, feeling perfectly calm, busy studying and not-panicking. Keith was fine.

The name that lit up his screen was _'Veronica.'_

Lance swallowed around a sudden lump in his throat.

She hadn't contacted him once since their little spiff in the coffee shop. Rachel had been around some and messaged him regularly, even if it was often just to meme-dump - but Veronica had fallen off his radar. Exactly like she'd wanted to. Mission status: successful.

So why was there a notification on his screen bearing her name?

A meaner piece of him wanted to delete it unread. Delete her contact itself, actually, because what use did he have for it? Maybe he could go so far as to block her number. That had to be cathartic.

Lance didn't. He didn't have those sorts of guts. That mean little corner of his mind was no match for the rest of it.

With shaking fingers, he opened the message.

> _Veronica: hey...I know you probably don't want to see me right now, but can we meet up? I owe you an apology._

At once, Lance teetered on the fence.

Veronica had a routine going, and this was always how it started. She contacted him, seeking relationship (or just turned up on his doorstep uninvited.) She failed to adequately reciprocate said desired relationship. She rage-quit, spat the blame on him, and ran for the hills. Rinse and repeat.

Did he really want to put himself through that again? How many burned fingers would it take before reaching into the fire lost its appeal?

But maybe this time would be different.

Maybe she really did want to be around. Maybe she was finally willing to put in the effort. Maybe she meant it.

(This was also how it started: in his head, with maybe's and what-if's. The light of the flames danced in his eyes as his hand creeped ever closer.)

Before he could change his mind, Lance sealed his fate with a reply.

> _You: yeah. when and where?_

Was it the right choice? Maybe. Maybe not. Time would have to be the judge.

But damn, if that flickering fire wasn't a temptation.


	64. everything is like a blur, it loses me around the curve

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something about it was so warm. So reminiscent of days long gone, when they were both innocent and blunt in their affections, as children tend to be. 
> 
> That warmth was the same reason he felt uncomfortable. They played a different game now, one with infinitely more complex rules. Lance didn't quite have the heart to tell her she was trying to fit her pieces into the wrong puzzle.

Lance shifted his weight from foot to foot, knees bouncing where he stood. He ran a finger beneath the edge of his collar; it suddenly felt too tight, too hot. Scratchy sleeves made his shoulders itch. The breeze blew, and he went from overheated to shivering in a matter of seconds. 

The ceaseless noise of a public park irritated him to no end. The sunlight was too...sunlight-y. There didn't seem to be a sensory input that _wasn't_ giving him grief.

What a beautiful day to remember that he, too, often experienced anxiety.

Finally, after what felt like years of scanning the horizon, Veronica's familiar form appeared in the distance. And she was - Lance squinted.

She was carrying a box?

Either a box or something equally large and square, he concluded as she drew nearer.

When she was a mere few yards away, the scene clarified itself. She was, indeed, wielding a box, in all its cardboard glory.

Weird.

Lance forced himself to smile.

"Hey," he said weakly.

Veronica stopped in front of him and redistributed the weight of the box in her arms. Her smile was just as fake. "Hey, yourself. How have you been?"

Lance shrugged.

"Fine," he lied. "You?"

"Good." Veronica cleared her throat and feigned interest in the park's perfectly trimmed landscape. "Yeah, I'm good. Thanks for asking."

He couldn't help feeling annoyed at her unveiled disappointment. Of course things between them were awkward. How could she have expected anything else?

"What's in the box?" Lance asked. Not because he really cared all that much; mostly just because there was nothing else to say.

The change was instantaneous. Veronica snapped her head back toward him. If he'd thought the sunlight was too sunlight-y, it was nothing compared to the brightness in her eyes.

Lance only grew more wary. Few things caused Veronica to radiate such Rachel-ish joy, and he wasn't sure he wanted to know anymore.

"I didn't know if you'd still want it - you know, since it's _me_ bringing it, and you didn't look all that happy to see me just now-"

"Can't you just-" Lance rubbed a hand down his face and sighed with intentional volume. Did they really need to talk about whether or not he was happy to see her? _Indecisive. I'll get back to you on that._ "What is it? What do you mean, 'if I still want it'?"

"Some of your stuff." Veronica wore an expression so hopeful it verged on childish. His heart skipped a solid two beats. "When Papi was throwing it all out after Christmas, I saved some of it. Snuck it under my bed, then stashed it with my things when we moved."

Lance stared. Words evaded him. What could he possibly say to that?

He settled on a choked, "You did?"

Veronica responded by lowering herself to the grass, squatting on her toes, and ripping off the heavy-duty tape that kept the box sealed. Lance stood frozen and dumbfounded. 

She unfolded the four flaps. Nostalgia hit him like a slap to the face.

No particular item stood out. They were all just vaguely familiar tokens of his childhood with more feelings attached to them than memories. But the feelings were _nice_. Happy. 

His head was stuck in some kind of disconnect. Lance should have felt like he was looking at his past, because he was. He didn't, though. It would have been more apt to call these things memorabilia from a previous lifetime.

He was not the same person he'd been when he acquired all that stuff. Not even close.

Lance wondered if maybe he _had_ overreacted a bit to discovering Alexander purged the family home of his possessions. Did he even want them?

Veronica stared up at him, anticipation painted across every inch of her body. "Do - do you want to look through it?"

"Maybe later," he managed around the lump in his throat. Her face began to fall.

"Why later?"

At least this answer he could give in perfect honesty. "Because if I look now, I'll probably cry, and I kind of don't want to do that in the middle of a park."

Veronica softened. "Oh, Lance..."

Like everything that day was turning out to be, her emotions were double-edged. They were genuine, he could tell. She really did want to offer a kind gesture, to brighten his week in whatever small way she could.

Something about it was so _warm_. So reminiscent of days long gone, when they were both innocent and blunt in their affections, as children tend to be. 

That warmth was the same reason he felt uncomfortable. They played a different game now, one with infinitely more complex rules. Lance didn't quite have the heart to tell her she was trying to fit her pieces into the wrong puzzle.

"Thank you." He sniffled and wiped one watering eye roughly with his sleeve as she rose to her feet. "Seriously, Vee. That was... _so_ nice of you. Thank you."

She smiled and placed a hand on his shoulder. Lance allowed it. It would be cruel to shrug her off after she'd done such a kind thing.

"Of course, _hermano_ ," she said. "That's not all, though."

Lance blinked. "You mean there's more stuff?"

Veronica shook her head. She pulled her phone out and began to scroll.

"Give me your phone," she said. Lance quirked an eyebrow, and Veronica smirked. "Don't worry. I won't use it to text the wrong-number rando who sends me dick pics."

"Oh, _that's_ comforting."

"Just hand it over, you dork."

Lance did so with a glare that was only half-joking. He watched in silence as she looked between the two screens and typed something out on his. His fingers twisted together and his toes tapped the soft ground without rhythm.

"What is it?" He asked after a mere ten seconds, tone soaked with impatience. Veronica paused her task to give him an incredulous look.

"You're only making it take longer," she said. Lance had to smile.

He recognized the phrase at once - though, in his blurry memories, it was never spoken in English. That was what Mama used to say, rife with playful exasperation, when they tried in vain to peer over the kitchen counter and asked, _when's dinner ready?_

Talk about nostalgia.

"There." Veronica held out his phone.

The way she fought to keep a grin off her face, lips twitching with effort, was not comforting. Lance was wary to look, but he did. 

She'd created a new contact. The name read _Mama_.

Lance stared at her. Veronica freed the suppressed smile. Said smile soon grew water-blurry, and he blinked a few times to clear his vision.

"That's not..." Lance shook his head. " _How?_ She doesn't even have a phone. She isn't allowed."

"She does now. I bought her one."

Veronica gave a simple shrug as she said it, nonchalant. As if she hadn't just pulled the boldest power move he'd ever born witness to.

"You..." Lance sputtered.

"Mmhm. The account's under my name. As long as Mama's careful about where she hides it and when she uses it, he'll never know it exists."

_She's probably gotten used to hiding things from him._

The comment sprinted up his tongue, and Lance bit down on it. No need to ruin two perfectly good moods.

"I don't know what to say," he whispered. "Thank you, Vee."

Veronica took a shaky breath. "Can I hug you?"

Ten minutes before, Lance would have denied the request, but now - honestly, why not? She'd done more than enough to deserve it.

Lance pulled her in first, glowing phone gripped tight in one hand while the other five fingers twisted in the back of her shirt. She returned the embrace with equal fervor. The strength of her grip made breathing a little difficult, but Lance didn't complain.

He touched the flames and, for once, they didn't burn.


	65. i'm always in a high-speed chase

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "You have to admit," he murmured against his Dom's mouth between kisses. "That was pretty convincing." 
> 
> "Yeah. Convincing. I was so convinced." 
> 
> "Mm. Are you only saying that so I won't stop kissing you?" 
> 
> "...no?" 
> 
> "Correct answer."

"What was this one for?"

Keith held up a generic green ribbon that simply read 'participation' in the center.

Lance snorted. "I have absolutely no idea."

"Then why'd you keep it for so long?"

"Because having a bunch of trophies and ribbons on display makes people think you're some kind of prodigy."

"Yeah, I don't think that really works when ninety percent of them say 'participation.'"

"It does if nobody looks too closely."

Keith smirked and threw the ribbon at him.

"Hey!" Lance mock-pouted when it hit his face. "Be nice to me. I'm fragile."

"Oh, _please_."

"I'm a weak, helpless little sub." Lance followed up the pout with a few fake sniffles and a wobbly lower lip. "You can't throw things at me. Now my heart hurts."

"By chance, would that participation ribbon be from theater?"

" _Excuse_ me? If I had a theater ribbon, it would be first place and stained with the tears of my competition, please and thank you."

"Sure it would, sweetheart."

As he spoke, Keith leaned over the box that sat between them on the dorm floor and gripped Lance's chin to pull him closer. The sub's offended façade cracked, replaced by a playful grin. Lance hummed in approval as their lips met.

"You have to admit," he murmured against his Dom's mouth between kisses. "That was pretty convincing."

"Yeah. Convincing. I was so convinced."

"Mm. Are you only saying that so I won't stop kissing you?"

"...no?"

"Correct answer."

Keith shoved the box haphazardly out of the way, and Lance invited himself to settle on his mate's lap. A thought struck him with the worst timing - right as Keith's tongue delved into his mouth, no doubt in an attempt to draw out a moan or two. Lance instead groaned in disappointment as he placed a gentle hand on Keith's chest to push him away.

"I forgot to ask you something," he said, breathing a little heavier than normal.

"Can't it wait?" Keith asked even as he moved to recapture the other's lips.

Lance ducked his head into the crook of Keith's neck. At Keith's noise of frustration, Lance began to press wet little kisses along a pale throat in the hopes of placating his Dom's growing hunger.

"Sorry, it can't," he said into warm skin. "How was your day?"

" _That's_ your question?" Keith's hands trailed longingly down to his sub's ass and squeezed. "Is small talk that important to you?"

"It's not small talk. I mean... _how was your day?"_

Curious fingertips paused their exploration. Keith stiffened against him. Lance ran what he hoped was a soothing hand over his back. 

"Oh." Keith sighed. "Right. That."

"Well?"

"Pretty much the usual."

"Is that good or bad?"

"I don't know. Neutral? It hasn't gotten _worse_ , so..."

Lance hummed and resumed his ministrations to the Dom's neck, now with an occasional swirl of his tongue against the flesh. "Good. I'm glad. Anything I can do to help?"

"Not really. Just..."

"Just what?"

"Just don't give up on me. I know I can be - _really_ hard to handle sometimes, and-"

"You're just enough for me to handle, Keith Kogane. Any less of a challenge and I'd be bored."

"Thanks. I think."

"Any time."

"You're a handful, too, you know." Keith pinched his ass sharply, earning an indignant squeal. "Such a brat."

"Keith! _Fragile_."

"Oh, you are?" Keith sighed. "That's a shame. There go my plans to chain you to the bed and edge you until you cry and beg for mercy. If you're so fragile, I wouldn't want to risk breaking you..."

"Who's fragile? I'm not fragile!" Lance popped his head up and stared with wide, pleading eyes. 

Keith smirked. He took hold of Lance's chin again, grip tight and controlling in the best way. He breathed his words against the sub's lips before claiming them as his own.

"I know."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's actually pretty cool how this worked out so that the last chapter of the day would be the chapter of pure fluff.
> 
> tomorrow's 5 are...not going to be as fluffy. so enjoy this while it lasts!


	66. and i'm trying to gain control, using everything i know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You look fucking ridiculous,” Keith said casually, slumped in the bungee chair with eyes glued to his notepad.
> 
> “I’m waiting for Mama to call. I look devoted.”
> 
> “You look like you need a bowl of raisin bran.”

Lance stared at the graviphone before him with ever-increasing concentration, as if he could somehow will it into ringing via brainpower. His brow furrowed. Teeth held his bottom lip in a probably not-sexy way. It wasn’t until an actual bead of sweat formed at his hairline that he realized he might be, _maybe_ , overthinking just a teensy bit.

“You look fucking ridiculous,” Keith said casually, slumped in the bungee chair with eyes glued to his notepad.

“I’m waiting for Mama to call. I look _devoted._ ”

“You look like you need a bowl of raisin bran.”

Lance flopped back onto the pillows with a dramatic noise of distress.

Keith snorted. “Oh, nice. Now you sound like it, too.”

“You’re _mean_.”

"You’re a drama queen.”

“And your point is?”

Keith finally lifted his eyes from the notepad to smirk at his sub. “Fair enough. Seriously, though – stop freaking. She’ll call when the coast is clear. Staring at your phone won’t make it happen any-”

The phone rang.

Lance flailed. He heaved himself into a sitting position with some difficulty, hands fumbling for the phone. His fingers shook as they swiped the green button. As he held the phone to his ear, he wondered if he’d even be able to hear Mama over the pounding of his own heart.

“H-hello?”

“ _Lance._ ”

Mama. Voice hushed and tense, but soft as ever and _her_ voice all the same. Heat pricked at Lance’s eyes.

“Mama,” he croaked. “It’s me. It’s Lance.”

“Oh, _mijo_ , I missed your voice. I’ve missed you _so_ much.”

Lance didn’t bother pointing out they’d been apart for a much longer period of time before. Gaining each other again, only to be _separated_ again – it hurt worse this time. He knew exactly how she felt.

“I missed you, too.” Lord only knew why he felt the need to whisper. Perhaps it was in solidarity with his mother. If she had no choice but to keep her voice low, then he would join her. “ _Dios_ , you have no idea.”

Across the room, Keith shifted, catching Lance’s attention. The Dom quietly rose to his feet and made some vague gesture toward the door.

Lance shook his head frantically. _‘Stay,’_ he mouthed, eyes wide. Keith reluctantly perched back on the edge of his seat. He held his back ramrod straight, shoulders tense, and his eyes darted around the room. Awkward body language, as if he was intruding on something private.

The moment was special – but Lance didn’t necessarily want it to be private. Not if ‘private’ meant his lifeline leaving the room; leaving him alone to keep himself afloat.

“How is school?” Mama whispered with a little sniffle. “You still have to keep your grades up, you know. Don’t think I won’t ask about them anymore, just because you went and grew up.”

Lance released a watery laugh. “Of course. All A’s, Mama, just for you.”

“That’s my smart boy."

Warmth flooded his chest cavity. How nice, discovering he still had someone who saw him as _smart_ without needing him to prove it. Unconditional belief.

And of course Keith believed in him, but this was different. This was _Mama._ She’d seen so much more of his life, seen all his pitfalls and wins, all his highs and valley-deep lows. And yet, after watching him fail time and time again – she believed in him.

God, how had he lived without her for an entire _year?_

“Hey, Mama – you wanna hear something cool?”

“Of course, _mijo_. What is it?”

“So I kind of started this group...”


	67. but nothing seems to work (i'll never catch it, this i'm sure)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Will you go somewhere with me?” 
> 
> Keith stood in the doorway, face dusted with a faint blush, and stared at his shuffling feet. Embarrassed. Self-conscious, even. The picture was just so...not Keith. 
> 
> “That depends,” Lance said slowly. He set his laptop aside and studied his lover with wary eyes. “Do I get to know where somewhere is?”

“Will you go somewhere with me?”

Something was up.

Keith stood in the doorway, face dusted with a faint blush, and stared at his shuffling feet. Embarrassed. Self-conscious, even. The picture was just so... _not Keith._

“That depends,” Lance said slowly. He set his laptop aside and studied his lover with wary eyes. “Do I get to know where _somewhere_ is?”

“I don’t want to say.”

“Why not?” Lance raised an eyebrow. “Because I might not want to go?”

And, to Lance’s absolute horror, the unthinkable happened: his Dom’s eyes began to grow red and misty. He blinked, chin wobbling ever so slightly, and swallowed.

Keith was a breath away from being in actual, real, human _tears_. Outside of a panic attack. On a perfectly normal day. No known stressors in sight.

Something was _definitely_ up. Keith Kogane was not typically a crying man.

“Whoa, hey,” Lance said softly. Heavy guilt settled in his throat. He swung his feet over the side of the bed and approached his Dom with caution, uncertain of whether an attempt at comfort would be accepted. “Keith. What’s going on? Why are you getting upset?”

Keith took a shallow, shuddering breath. He kept his eyes trained on the floor.

“You don’t have to go.” His voice croaked, and he cleared his throat. “If you don’t want to, that’s fine. It’s fine.”

“First of all...” Lance cradled his mate’s face in both hands and pressed their foreheads together. The gesture was readily reciprocated. Keith’s hands drifted to his sub’s hips seemingly of their own accord. “Take a deep breath, okay? Calm down.”

“I am calm.” Keith took the breath, anyway. His eyelids fluttered. “Perfectly calm.”

Lance begged to differ. He chose not to comment.

“Hey – it’s not that I don’t want to go anywhere with you.” He found it unlikely Keith would concede to his silent request for eye contact. Still, he continued to watch lashes flutter and hope they would lift. “I’d just like to have...at _least_ a vague inkling of where we’re going. Or why we’re going there. Or both. Will we be at risk of getting mauled to death by wild panthers?”

One corner of Keith’s lips twitched. “No.”

“Is it a three-gang turf war? Multi-mullion dollar mafia drug deal?”

That singular dimple made an appearance. “No.”

“Alright, then.” Lance mustered his own small smile, though he knew Keith wasn’t looking to see it. “Sure, Keith. I would _love_ to visit a super-secret somewhere with you. Won’t you lead the way?”

Keith lifted his head, revealing much drier eyes. He nodded toward the bathroom.

“You might want to pee first,” he said. “It’s a pretty long drive.”

Lance gulped and nodded. “Yeah. Of course.”

Long drive. No big deal. A long drive's basically just a mini road trip, right?

Or something like that.


	68. but i will not forget you've been with me step by step

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The drive was silent. 
> 
> Not Lance’s ideal way to spend a two hour car ride, if he was honest.

The drive was silent.

Not Lance’s ideal way to spend a two hour car ride, if he was honest. He would have much preferred to talk aimlessly with his mate about nothing and everything, or blast some cheesy Disney show tunes he knew Keith only pretended to like for his sake. Even a _companionable_ silence wouldn’t have been too bad.

Nothing about this silence was companionable. The air was tense and the glances were stilted. Keith held Lance’s hand over the console, but his grip felt robotic. It lacked a familiar softness and warmth. They always rubbed their thumbs over one another’s knuckles and squeezed for emphasis as they spoke, but to just... _hold?_

No. Lance didn’t like that sudden shift. He didn’t like it at all.

Wherever Keith was taking him, Lance decided preemptively that it couldn’t be a good place. Not if it made his Dom hold his hand halfheartedly and nearly cry for no reason.

The worst part? There was nothing he could do to physically get _away_ from any of it. Not unless he felt like jumping out of a moving vehicle (which he didn’t; it looked painful in the movies).

There was a second option, Lance realized with a large dose of relief partway through the ride. He could not physically retreat – but he could make his escape mentally. He could sleep. What was Keith going to do? Scold him for taking a nap? Hardly ethical.

So sleep, Lance did. It was a little tricky to angle his head in any comfortable way in the passenger seat of their car, but he got the hang out of it, and once he did –

 _Wow._ Was he really that tired? Since when? And _how?_

Maybe he was a little more strung out than he thought.

As he drifted so willingly out of consciousness, Lance could have sworn he felt a brief squeeze on the hand Keith held; a thumb tracing nonsense patterns over his knuckles.

* * *

His fingers were squeezed again – it was definitely real that time. A hand shook his shoulder when the squeeze failed to elicit a reaction.

“Lance. Wake up, sweetheart. We’re here.”

Here?

Lance opened his eyes. He allowed himself a brief moment to admire the face of his mate looming above him – but was it really admiring if the face was wrought with emotion and his heart twinged at the sight? – before his gaze darted toward the windshield.

Really, it was kind of dumb that Keith wouldn’t tell him where they were going. He trusted his Dom not to bring the two of them any place dangerous or too majorly illegal (or both). So why didn’t Keith want to…

His breath caught in his throat. Lance felt a tight, painful constriction in his chest. The unmistakable scenery outside their windows grew blurry as his eyes welled.

That was...honestly, the _last_ thing Lance expected. He knew at once why they were there.

God, he felt like such a dick for all his whiny, complaining thoughts. He was only thankful he hadn’t uttered any of them aloud, that he’d kept his supportive face on. No wonder Keith hadn’t wanted to tell him ahead of time. No wonder doing so ran the risk of an emotional outburst. No wonder Keith was flip-flopping between uncharacteristically tearful and utterly aloof.

Lance would probably be a mess, too, if it were him. Hell, he wouldn’t have kept himself together _nearly_ so well. How did Keith do it?

“We don’t have to get out.”

Lance startled, reluctantly tearing his gaze away from the windshield. Keith’s eyes were starting to glisten again, a thin sheen of emotion he refused to let spill. The Dom’s Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed.

“What?” Lance asked, dumbly.

“We don’t have to get out,” Keith repeated. “If you’re uncomfortable being here – we can turn around and go home. This was probably a stupid idea. I should have just told you where we were going-”

Keith went to restart the engine as he spoke. Lance shot up and grabbed his wrist.

“ _Whoa_ ,” he said. “Slow your roll. Are you trying to convince _me_ it’s okay to just go home, or yourself?”

Keith blinked. His lips pressed tight and he suddenly became very interested in his own knees. It drew Lance’s attention to how horridly inappropriate their attire was for the occasion. Keith didn’t seem to mind showing up in ripped jeans and a T-shirt, though, so Lance didn’t mention it.

“Yes,” Keith said.

Lance sighed. “Well, save it all for yourself. You don’t need to convince me. I’m okay with whatever you want to do.”

Keith raised that reluctant, watery gaze again, and Lance’s heart physically ached inside his chest. “Are you sure you’re okay with doing this? You can stay in the car. Or, like I said, we can just go home. I don’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“Why are you making this about me?”

Keith flinched. “I’m not-”

“You _are_. Stop that. This isn’t my choice to make.” Lance took a deep breath to brace himself. “He wasn’t my dad, Keith. He was yours. What do _you_ want to do?”

Keith didn’t hesitate. “I want to do it. I’ve never...it’s been _years_. And nobody else cares enough to visit. He shouldn’t be ignored.”

Lance smiled faintly and rubbed a soothing hand over his Dom’s bicep.

“Then let’s go see him.”

Keith turned off the headlights before coming around to open Lance’s door. Without the too-bright beams glaring through the dim of dusk, it was much easier to make out the words on the large sign that greeted them.

_Welcome to Eastern Sunset Funeral Home and Memorial Gardens._


	69. i've got issues, i've got scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early fall leaves danced across the dying grass, and a few tiptoed around his ankles before continuing on their way, aimless but never lost. The air grew colder as the sky darkened. Lance breathed in a greedy gulp and felt disrespectful for doing so. That air belonged to people who could no longer use it, and here he stood, stealing it while they slept in their boxes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok so this chapter and the next few as well all turned out to be like,,,really lit-fic in the writing style? like idk why my voice for original lit-fic short stories decided go invite itself into my colloquial style fanfic but aight go off ig
> 
> anyways. enjoy!

* * *

Early fall leaves danced across the dying grass, and a few tiptoed around his ankles before continuing on their way, aimless but never lost. The air grew colder as the sky darkened. Lance breathed in a greedy gulp and felt disrespectful for doing so. That air belonged to people who could no longer use it, and here he stood, stealing it while they slept in their boxes.

Keith, at his side, took shallower breaths; more appreciative, more selfless. That was alright. Keith was the one who had an inheritance to that air.

“Aren’t you cold?” Keith asked, voice soft and timid as if they might wake the locals beneath their feet. He didn’t give his sub a chance to respond. Lance barely opened his mouth before a size-too-small jacket was draped over his shoulders like a shawl.

He inhaled to protest – Keith shouldn’t have to suffer just because his sub forgot his hoodie at the dorm – then paused. He _was_ cold. The body heat lingering in the garment was a comfort. Lance grasped the sleeves and tugged it closer.

“Yeah, actually,” he said. “I was. Thank you.”

“Of course.”

The memorial gardens, open to the public after hours though the doors to the funeral home were locked, sprawled over the land, crept around trees and took up space without rhythm. There seemed to be no pattern to the layout of the graves. They were strewn at random, century old next to month old, W names next to A’s.

Lance clicked his teeth in quiet apprehension. Did Keith want to stay out here all night in the cold and dark, scanning every worn name until they happened to stumble upon the right one? They both had class in the morning, not to mention a two hour drive back.

Of course, if that did turn out to be Keith’s plan, Lance wouldn’t complain. Whatever it took to help his mate feel okay. Anything at all – Lance was down.

Still, he’d be a liar if he said he wasn’t relieved when Keith jerked his head to the right and said _this way,_ and Lance realized the Dom already knew where he was going.

On his second ever visit to his biological father’s grave, Keith knew exactly where to find him. He had every step down to a science, cryptographed in his memory for nine years, and not a single footfall was lost.

That had to mean something, didn’t it?

“Right up here, this hill.” Keith glanced briefly at the rolling rise of slightly less dead grass before them, then winced and stared at his shoes instead. “That’s him.”

Lance took one hand off the jacket. He intertwined his fingers with Keith’s and squeezed until his knuckles turned white. The jacket corner began to slip from his shoulder, allowing cold to graze his skin, and he made no move to stop it.

“I’m here,” he said, because he couldn’t say much else. “I’ll be right here.”

“I know.”

They trudged up the hill.


	70. and the color is just like yours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith stopped halfway through a step and his breath stuttered to a halt. Lance swore he could hear the stars laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> just warning y'all,,,idk if we gon get 3 chapters up tomorrow. i am...SO exhausted...it's seriously not even funny. but hey maybe i'll surprise myself, we'll see.
> 
> enjoy!

A nine year old grave shouldn’t have been so worn.

The tombstone bearing _Tucker Kogane_ stood on a hill above so many other long forgotten men, as if this one held a place of honor. Some kind of _honor_ , to go nine years stuck on a graveyard throne without a single visit from the living.

Cruel _._ That’s what the location was. Keith’s father sacrificed himself in the line of duty, burned his own life to save another, and the thanks he got was a stone on top of a hill where there were no overhead trees to shield him from the scathing Arizona sun, and his engraving would be rendered unreadable in half the time as any other. Unintentional, most likely, as far as the hands of men reached – but the cosmos knew their way around a cemetery, and they humored no such thing as fairness.

Keith stopped halfway through a step and his breath stuttered to a halt. Lance swore he could hear the stars laughing.

“It looks different,” Keith said, breathy and novocaine-numb. “Of course it does – it’s been _years_ – but...”

His face screwed up, pinched and scrunched in all the wrong places. Emotion returned in a crash-boom-tidal wave that left the Dom looking shaky and pale.

Lance stood close enough that he, too, was swept into the current, drowning in sorrow, grief, and rage that weren’t his own. Collateral damage.

“I know.” Lance lifted their interlocked hands, through which tremors moved in unison, and trailed kisses from the tip of Keith’s thumb to the inside of his wrist. “I know. I’m sorry. I’m here.”

“Nobody ever brought him flowers.”

Lance inhaled sharply. “What?”

“My dad. On his grave. Nobody ever brought him flowers.”

Blood pounded in the sub’s ears as he wracked his always-chattering brain for a way to respond. The search came up empty. Error message; blue screen.

“We can go get some,” he found after a moment of panicked scrambling. “Do you want to go get him some flowers? We can do that, right?”

Keith’s mouth hung open like an invitation. _If any words would like to string a coherent sentence together and clamber out, be my guest._ That offer seemed to have been left on the table. Keith made no response.

Instead, he stumbled forward, hand wrenched from his sub’s, and dropped in front of the stone. His kneecaps hit the base audibly enough that Lance winced, but Keith didn’t seem to notice.

Lance rocked forward in a longing to hold, to mend, then forced himself back on his heels. Even if he could offer some modicum of comfort, there was no telling how Keith would respond, whether he would be a warm hearth or a gasoline-fed arson. Safer to hedge his bets and wait to be summoned.

He was summoned soon thereafter, but not in so many words. Hitched breaths and low sobs spoke volumes louder.

Lance recognized a call to action when he heard one.


	71. i was broken right from the start

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time he went to school black and blue and told his teacher 'I got into a fight,' Keith was ten years old.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i'm sorrrry nothing got up yesterday! life happens and my life is,,,,w i l d rn. honestly don't be surprised if we go back to the random update schedule of just posting them as they get written.
> 
> enjoy!

The first time he went to school black and blue and told his teacher _I got into a fight_ , Keith was ten years old.

It was easier to lie than he thought it would be. Easier to let people believe he couldn’t control himself than to let them know he was so naughty, so selfish, so poorly conducted that he had to be beaten into behaving. None of his classmates had such bruises. Clearly they were much more pleasant children than him.

He hadn’t meant to be so disrespectful.

He didn’t even know that _was_ disrespectful, to ask for something on one’s birthday. His daddy wouldn’t have called it disrespectful. He would have smiled and said _sure, kiddo_ , and bought him an ice cream cone and that would have been the end of it.

But people did say his dad hadn’t been right in the head. Maybe that was just him.

When he asked his foster mother on the car ride home from school, she scrunched up her nose and glanced away from the road to shoot him an incredulous look.

“The hell you need ice cream for?” She asked.

Keith shrank into his seat with a wince. “I don’t _need_ it, ma’am. Just…”

“Just what? Don’t fuckin’ mumble, can’t understand a word you’re saying.”

“Just that it’s my birthday – I’m ten now – and I know it’s not fair to want a cake or presents or stuff, ‘cause, you know, I’m not yours, but-”

“Oh, what, you thought weaselin’ out an ice cream would be better? You’re right, kid, it’s not fair to me. Your birthday none of my concern.” She spat a sunflower seed into the ashtray. “You’re a greedy little fucker, you know what? So goddamn disrespectful."

Keith hung his head, a blush of pure shame heating his face. His daddy always told him it was important to be respectful. He had to be so angry, shaking his head while he watched on from heaven.

He more than paid for his crime.

Was it fair or not? Keith couldn’t quite tell. He knew he’d done wrong, knew he’d been rude, knew he’d disrespected the woman and disappointed his father – but _this?_

She pushed him against a wall the second the door shut, and Keith cried out as his back dug into the corner and nails pierced his shoulder.

“You’re gonna regret bein’ such a little shit,” she hissed, and he turned his head away from her foul breath. She grabbed his chin and forced him to look. “Don’t you dare start with the tears. It’s your own damn fault.”

Maybe it was.

* * *

And it was his fault the next time.

And the next time.

And again, and again, and again.

* * *

A beefy hand wrapped around his throat, squeezed, and shook. Panic flooded every cell of his being.

His instinct was to plead forgiveness for whatever wrongdoing had landed him there – and he couldn’t. With no air to speak, it was all Keith could do to stare into the man’s eyes and hope his wordless remorse was conveyed.

It must have been. After a few moments, his throat was released.

His knees buckled, then crashed to the floor. Keith’s ears rang and pounded as he gasped desperately for breath. Tears smarted his eyes.

The man dealt a swift kick to his side. He used a portion of his precious, newfound breath to cry out in surprise.

“That’s what you get for disobeying,” the man sneered. “Maybe now you’ll do what I tell you the first time.”

“I w-will,” Keith rasped. He fought to blink back tears; they would only get him in more trouble. “I will."

* * *

He screamed.

He screamed, and screamed, and _screamed._

Keith’s stomach twisted as the scent of burning flesh hit him, and what small part of his logical brain still functioned urged him not to throw up on the foster man. Who knew how much higher the heat could be turned?

Oh, God. Oh, _God._ How could anything _hurt_ so bad? His hand might as well have been lit on fire. Was this what hell felt like?

“You deserve this,” the man hissed. “You’re worthless.”

_I know._

* * *

 

Bright lights flashed on the ceiling above. People hustled around his prone figure. Keith blinked and rolled his head to the side, heart pounding with fear of the unknown.

“I need you to stop moving, sweetheart, okay?”

He froze for a moment, then relaxed, fear melting away as a rubber hand rested gently on his arm. That wasn’t his foster mother. She would never extend such a kind gesture, let alone call him _sweetheart._

“Wha...” He tried to croak. The woman shushed.

“You’ve been hurt,” she said softly. “But we’re going to help you. Everything’s alright now.”

_No. It’s really not._

* * *

 

“It’s okay if you need to cry.”

Keith blinked. The paramedic blinked back. Sorrow swirled in her eyes, and he hated it.

“Why?”

She stared, a chunk of her pity replaced with confusion. “What do you mean?”

“Why would I cry?” Keith asked numbly. “There’s no reason to.”

There wasn’t. This was not the first time he’d been beaten to a pulp, and it would not be the last. He’d stopped crying during his punishments a very long time ago. Tears were pointless. Tears would not help. They often only made things worse. Cycling through horrendous foster parents who only wanted to hurt him, and kind ones who never kept him for more than a few weeks because he was _too much to handle_ , had taught him as much.

The paramedic gaped for a moment. Then she turned to grab something.

“Let me get you a shock blanket,” she said.

* * *

Four hands soothed over his back, his arms, his hair, his face. Two voices shushed and _we’re here, you’re safe, it’s okay_ ’d.

 _You’re safe_ , they said, and he was.

Keith curled up between two people he never thought he’d be lucky enough to find, and sobbed.


	72. i'm no different than you are

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I blamed him.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> fdjfdjhdsjfjbadsilfabsdifagskjldnsdkjfd I forgot to mention in the last chapter that y'all CRACKED ME UP with the comments about how the tucker on the tombstone threw you off lmfao. I WAS NOT GONNA LEGIT NAME THIS MAN TEXAS. NOT TODAY SATAN.
> 
> enjoy!

“I blamed him.”

His stories filled the stale night air, and this statement was a grim punctuation. Lance looked at him, eyes wide and wet. The arm around his shoulders tightened.

“What?”

“I blamed him,” Keith repeated. “All the shit that happened to me in the system. I thought it was his fault.”

Silence fell heavy over the cemetery. They sat there breathing together, and Keith felt compulsed to count them, so he did. _Inhale, exhale, one. Inhale, exhale, two._ Who knew how many they had left?

Lance’s head rested on his shoulder, a warm weight to ground him. “Do you – want to talk about why?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay.” The sub nuzzled into his neck. “I’m listening.”

“It’s just, like. If he loved me. Why did he do it, you know? Everyone told him it wasn’t safe to go back in. He knew I’d be alone if he died. Why didn’t he think about me?”

“Maybe he did.”

“What do you mean?”

“Maybe he thought, if it was his kid, he’d want somebody to at least _try_. Maybe he thought about how much it would suck to lose you, and he didn’t want another parent to have to feel that. Maybe he was thinking about you the whole time.”

The next inhale was a sharp one. “That...actually makes sense.”

“Don’t sound so surprised,” Lance mumbled with the vaguest shadow of humor, as if he feared a joke in that moment might offend his Dom. Keith felt far from offended. The familiarity was a comfort.

“I guess I never thought about it like that.”

Keith drew a shaky breath ( _twenty-three._ ) He moved to wipe the remnants of tears that evidenced his mortifying breakdown. Lance beat him to it, and the splotchy, post-crying redness on Keith’s face was accompanied by the heat of a blush. Wiping his tears was certainly not the most intimate thing Lance had ever done to him – but it was intimate in a different way. An unexpected way. Something Keith thought maybe he could get used to.

“Do you feel better?” Lance whispered near his ear. Keith nodded. “It helps, letting it out. I tried to tell you. It really does help.”

“Yeah.” Keith sniffled and offered a watery laugh. “I should listen to you more often.”

“You should. I’m usually right.”

Keith bit his tongue as he leaned his head on top of his sub’s.

Just this once, he’d let that one slide.


	73. i'm not perfect, i'm perfectly flawed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith took Lance’s hand from across the table and thought, with all the sincerity in the world, that despite the dark bags beneath his sub’s eyes and the wind-swept mess of his hair, he’d never looked more beautiful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey yo whattup, i'm home sick from work today with the stomach bug that's been going around, plz shoot me in the face

The diner’s lighting was unintentionally dim. Light bulbs that were meant to be fluorescent flickered and burned out in overhead lamps that swung from the ceiling. The shadows they cast were hardly flattering.

Keith took Lance’s hand from across the table and thought, with all the sincerity in the world, that despite the dark bags beneath his sub’s eyes and the wind-swept mess of his hair, he’d never looked more beautiful.

“Are you sure you don’t want to bring back flowers?” Lance asked with a sad smile. “We can. That’s not a problem.”

Keith shook his head. “Another day. You haven’t eaten yet, and I don’t want you falling asleep in class tomorrow. That’s more important right now.”

The unspoken _you’re important_ was as good as audible between them. The curve of Lance’s lips became something a little more genuine and a lot less sad.

“You’re sweet,” Lance said quietly as he intertwined their fingers. “But seriously. If you change your mind, just let me know.”

“I will.”

Telltale bustles of dishwashing sounded faintly from the kitchen. A waiter and waitress leaned against stools at the breakfast bar, chatting without animation and studying their nails while they waited for the cook to prepare the meals of their only two customers. It was an unfamiliar scene and yet, with his mate’s hand squeezing his and those blue eyes watching him, Keith thought it might as well have been home.

“I’m proud of you, you know,” Lance said.

“For what?”

“For talking to me. For getting help. I know none of this is easy, but you’re doing it.” The sub looked down at the table and took a rattling breath. “You’re so much stronger than you think you are, Keith. You might not believe that right now, but it’s true. And until you can – I’ll believe it for you.”

“God. You’re just trying to make me cry tonight, aren’t you?”

Lance laughed. “Yes. That’s exactly it. My secret, diabolical goal.”

“You’re succeeding. Fuck. Don’t do that shit to me here.”

“Sorry.” He didn’t look sorry at all. Keith couldn't complain.

And he was right. It was hard to believe. Damn hard. Probably one of the hardest things he’d ever had to do.

But with such an honest man sitting across from him, spilling the words with ease, like they were something natural and undeniably clear…

“I think I’m starting to believe it.”

That wasn’t too hard at all.


	74. and my scratches don't hurt much at all

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You’re exhausted,” he said flatly. “Please just give me the keys and get in. You can sleep on the way back.”
> 
> Keith spent another few moments looking him up and down in silent judgment. Then he tossed the keys Lance’s way and reluctantly walked around to the passenger side. “Fine. Don’t kill us.”
> 
> “Your confidence is touching.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bc I know y'all looovee these short chapters. you enjoy the torture, u kinky little subs 
> 
> :) 
> 
> enjoy!

“You should let me drive.”

Keith eyed him almost distrustfully. “Why?”

Lance rolled his eyes. For someone who’d not-so-secretly stifled a yawn at least nine times in the past thirty minutes, Keith sat at an undeserved level of stubborn.

“You’re exhausted,” he said flatly. “Please just give me the keys and get in. You can sleep on the way back.”

Keith spent another few moments looking him up and down in silent judgment. Then he tossed the keys Lance’s way and reluctantly walked around to the passenger side. “Fine. Don’t kill us.”

“Your confidence is touching.”

It must have been the siren’s call of sleep that enticed Keith into putting up much less of a fight than usual. The engine purred to life, and within five minutes, his Dom was out cold.

The silence on the drive back was nothing like that of the drive up. Aside from the engine’s hum, four rolling tires, and an occasional prompt from the GPS to guide their route, not a sound was made – and Lance was entirely at peace with that. He found it difficult to keep his eyes on the road, tempting as it was to get lost in the rhythmic rise and fall of his lover’s chest. He wondered if Keith had the same trouble a couple of hours before.

“I love you,” he whispered into the darkness of the car, though he knew Keith couldn’t hear him, and blinked rapidly at the windshield. “I love you _so_ much.”

His love was not going to solely save Keith from this hole he’d dug himself into over the years, and that was okay. It was not meant to. If Lance could be nothing but a soft place for the other to rest his head after yet another weary battle won, it would be more than enough. Lance would offer all the rest his Dom could ever need and then some.

Lord knew he was only returning the favor.


	75. but just like you, i've got issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He wasn’t quite sure how it happened.
> 
> One moment, he was shaking his groggy mate out of sleep. Keith trailed sluggishly behind him, rubbing his eyes and yawning all the way to the dorm.
> 
> The next moment – well.
> 
> Lance was definitely going to fall asleep in class tomorrow.

Lance wasn’t quite sure how it happened.

One moment, he was shaking his groggy mate out of sleep. Keith trailed sluggishly behind him, rubbing his eyes and yawning all the way to the dorm.

The next moment – _well._

The next moment found Lance with his back forced into the mattress, wrists pinned above his head in a wonderful display of dominance, swallowing all the growls released into his mouth and repaying them with strangled moans. Keith was significantly more alert, if the hard heat pressed into Lance’s hip meant anything. How the night had come to this was all but a blur.

Lance wasn’t quite sure how it happened, but by _God_ , he certainly had no complaints.

“Are you gonna be a good boy?” Keith growled, low and lustful. Lance cried out at the teeth that bit his bottom lip and whimpered at the healing lick. “Gonna do everything Sir tells you?”

“Yes,” Lance gasped.

“Yes _what?_ _"_

“Yes, Sir.”

“ _That’s_ my good boy. Fuck.”

 _Fuck_ was exactly right. At least, Lance hoped it was.

Keith shucked his own jeans and boxers off, then sat up to pull his shirt over his head and throw it carelessly to the floor. Lance knew he meant it as a tease. His own cock was still restrained inside tight jeans, where it would remain until Keith was well and ready to release it. When that might be, Lance was none the wiser. The utter lack of control he held was deliciously dizzying.

Fingers trailed lightly down Lance’s breath-heaving stomach where his shirt rode up. They moved past his navel, toward the button of his pants, and his heart fluttered –

They diverted at the last second. Tracing circles on his clothed inner thighs. Dipping beneath the side of his waistband, rubbing at his hipbone, then moving away again.

Lance all but writhed on the bed.

“Sir.” He whimpered, wide eyes flickering between his Sir’s hand and eyes. Keith wore a smug, playful smirk. He never met his sub’s gaze. “Sir, _Sir_...”

“You want Sir to touch you, beautiful?”

“Yes, Sir! Oh, God, _yes_.”

Keith hummed.

“Beg for it.”

If Keith thought he would have any qualm with begging, he was sorely mistaken.

“Please!” Lance somehow found the mind to pull out an exaggerated pout. “Please, please, please! Just fuck me, Sir, please-”

A harsh slap was dealt to his clothed ass. Even through the jeans, it stung. Lance cried out more in surprise than pain.

“Watch your mouth,” Keith snapped, eyes flashing, and Lance shivered. “I’d hate to have to wash that pretty little tongue with soap – oh, wait. I’d _love_ that, actually.”

On another night, were he less aroused, Lance might have agreed. He might have reveled in the idea of being disciplined, and even more so in the sweet snuggles that were always sure to follow.

In that moment, though? He was fairly certain he might actually _die_ if a thick cock wasn’t pounding his ass without mercy in the next five seconds.

“I’m very sorry, Sir.” Lance sniffled, only halfway real. “I’m a bad boy. Please forgive me.”

“Do you need another spanking?”

“N-no!” _Oh, yes, Sir, please._

“Then put that damn pout away and stop whining.”

Lance complied at once. Playing games and pushing the limits was fun – but being fucked rough and greedy was significantly more so. If he was _too_ disobedient, he might not get his wish.

“Yes, Sir. Sorry, Sir. I’ll behave, I promise.”

“Much better.” Keith tilted his head back roughly with a yanking grip in his hair, and huffed hot breath against his lips. “You’re not a bad boy, are you? You’re my good boy. You just like acting naughty. Guess somebody has to put you back in your place, hm?”

Lance only stared, panting in a crazed sort of way. His brain was muddled with primal need, body stuttering and desire growing more desperate with each little tease. He managed another choked whimper by way of response.

“Use your _words_ , you little brat.”

“Y-yes...yes, S-sir,” he moaned. “Need y-you to put...to p-put me...I’m...”

Keith offered a wicked grin. “God, look at you. _Such_ a beautiful mess for me. You want me that bad, baby boy? So bad you can’t even speak?”

Lance gasped, stomach soaring as his jeans were undone and slowly slipped to his knees. His hard, leaking cock twitched against tight briefs.

“Yes... _y-yes_...”

A hand palmed him through thin white cloth. “There you go, my sweet boy. Does that feel good?”

Lance threw his head against the pillows and arched his back, mouth open, eyes squeezed shut. The drawn-out teases and building up to that one moment made a simple palming feel _way_ better than it should have.

“Yes! Sir! Oh, _fuck_. Fuck – _ah!_ ”

The hand left his crotch. His briefs were pulled down, but harshly, and Lance realized his mistake half a second too late. Keith slapped his right ass cheek even harder than before, one, two, three times in rapid succession.

“Sorry!” Lance blurted in panic of losing the pleasure he’d worked so hard to earn. “I’m so sorry, Sir, sorry!”

“Way too late for sorry, sweetheart.” Keith leaned in close to his ear and made a series of low _tsk, tsk, tsk_ ’s. “Would you look at what you did? I lost my place. Now we have to start all over...”

His briefs were pulled back up. The jeans followed. They were buttoned and zipped, trapping his aching cock in a too-tight prison all over again. Lance sobbed dry.

“ _Nooo!_ ” He wailed, hips bucking once before he had the mind to stop, lest he get in trouble again. “I’ll be good! No more naughty words, Sir, I’ll be so good!”

“Oh, I know. You’ll be on your _best_ behavior this time, won’t you?”

Fingers trailed past his navel. Diverted before the copper button. Rubbed his hipbone; traced his inner thigh.

Well. He was _definitely_ going to fall asleep in class tomorrow.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> well......hot damn. i'd say that was a lot more fuckin pleasant than the hlp chapter 75. if hlp 75 destroyed y'all's hearts, r:bomb 75 just fixed em up with a sledgehammer.
> 
> enjoying the story so far? drop a comment and let me know! i don't always respond just because, you know, adulting, full time job, jam packed schedule, crippling depression and all - but i read and treasure every single one! y'all have no idea how much getting one little e-mail notification that there's a new comment can put me in a better mood when i'm having a shitty day at work. even your incoherent keysmashes are near and dear to my lil klance heart <3
> 
> thank you for your continued support of this series! mwah!


	76. am i unwell? cause i don't understand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Would he ever get used to the idea of such a gorgeous soul being claimed as his? Probably not. He was alright with that. Mother Nature herself would weep the day this masterpiece creation she’d no doubt slaved over in the womb was regarded as ordinary.

A flushed-red face nestled into fluffed pillows, the white cases a stark contrast to smooth mocha skin. Only one side of said face was visible to Keith. He watched in awe as long lashes fluttered.

Would he ever get used to the idea of such a gorgeous soul being claimed as _his?_ Probably not. He was alright with that. Mother Nature herself would weep the day this masterpiece creation she’d no doubt slaved over in the womb was regarded as _ordinary._

Lance was anything but. He declared as much every day, but not in so many words. He declared it in the way he smiled, the way he laughed, the way he breathed. He declared it by existing. _I’m here,_ he screamed silently and unknowingly every time he entered a room. _I’m beautiful, I’m perfect, look at me, I’m here._

Keith, for one, was helpless against his siren song. He tumbled overboard and fell prey to murky waters every time damn, and was overjoyed to do so.

Lance hummed, fingers twitching against the pillows. Keith smiled as he ran a damp cloth over his sub’s inner thighs and the surrounding area. The sheets needed changed, too, but he could hardly strip the bed without disturbing Lance. That particular chore would have to wait until he rejoined the land of non-subspacers.

Oh, no. Keith had to kill time by snuggling his sub and admiring him in absolute wonder. Whatever would he do?

For starters: exactly that.

His sub’s post-sex body was running hot. It felt something like cuddling a furnace; Keith was overheated and sweating (again) the instant he made contact.

It was absolutely perfect. Lance stirred a little, and Keith tugged him closer.

To be left alone with his own thoughts while Lance drifted in subspace was an inevitability. He was blindsided by it all the same.

The true surprise, though, was the _content_ of his thoughts.

For once, Keith didn’t wallow in self-pity. He didn’t ruminate on all the mistakes he may or may not have made that night, all the ways he could have done better, made Lance come harder, been a more efficient Dom. He didn’t even – and this one _really_ surprised him – bash or even scold himself once for all the weakness he’d displayed at the cemetery.

He instead thought fondly of Lance. Of how much and how willingly he’d helped Keith as of late. Of the way his eyes shone with moonlight and truth when he said _I love you_. Of what an indisputably wonderful person he was. Of how he deserved to hold the entire universe in the palm of his hand and nothing less, for all he was worth.

It was a pretty fucking refreshing change.

Lance mumbled something incoherent and burrowed impossibly closer to his Dom. Keith wrapped arms around his waist and breathed.

 _Yeah,_ he thought as he watched an unconscious smile spread over Lance’s face. _Adam was right. I’m doing a pretty damn good job._


	77. is this what they say it is to be human?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Lance had to have a nightmare, he was only thankful it was this nightmare.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEET whattup fam i'm still sick. believe it or not these chapters are drafted and ready to go and have been for days, I just keep getting too sidetracked vomiting to post them. but anyways
> 
> enjoy!

If Lance had to have a nightmare, he was only thankful it was _this_ nightmare.

Could it really be called a nightmare? He knew he was asleep, knew the world around him was not the true one; everything about it rang false. The colors were off, and though he shivered, he couldn’t feel the night breeze on his skin.

The thing that really sold Lance on the fact he was in la-la-land: why would he _ever_ be walking down empty city sidewalks in the dead of night without Keith by his side?

He never would. Lance made stupid decisions sometimes – but never _that_ stupid. He had enough unwanted experience in such dangerous arenas to know better.

Therefore, la-la-land.

Unfortunately, wielding the knowledge that he was dreaming didn’t seem to stop the dream from wreaking havoc on his emotions.

Ghosts whispered in his ears and blew tickling breaths down his neck. The whispers were wordless, a non-human language he couldn’t decipher, but the lack of physical beings present to accompany them was more than enough to incite panic.

Hands, too, not real and flesh but shadows beneath his feet. They grabbed at his ankles, tried to trip him. No doubt so they could drag him into their alleyway homes and make him disappear forever. His breath, heart rate, and walking pace all picked up in unison.

Ethereal hands became bolder. They snatched at his feet with more confidence, held tighter, and tugged harder. Whispers grew meaner, louder, angrier as he began to run, and Lance was at a loss as to why he felt so _scared_. It was just a dream – wasn’t it?

A real hand. Warm, familiar, kind. Calloused flesh enveloped his softer fingers and squeezed in the most comforting way imaginable.

_I’m here; you’re safe. Wake up for me, sweetheart. Wake up._

Now, _those_ words, Lance would recognize anywhere. This whisper did not send a chill down his spine but rather rivulets of relief seeping into his panicked brain.

He opened his eyes. The dim lighting of the dorm. A floor fan humming in the corner. A plain white ceiling above.

Well. Could have been a lot worse. He’d take it.

“Are you okay?” Keith hovered somewhere in his peripheral. Lance turned toward him and gave a slight, uncertain nod.

“Mostly,” he said.

Keith ran a hand through his sub’s hair. Lance made a contented noise in response and nuzzled closer.

“You’re safe. It was just a bad dream.”

“I knew it was a dream," Lance murmured, lashes fluttering. “Just couldn’t wake up.”

For a moment, Lance was appeased to let his Dom soothe his frayed edges and slip back into a (hopefully dreamless) sleep. Then a thought struck him. His eyes flew open.

Keith was not the slightest bit groggy. He hadn’t been roused by Lance’s distress. The Dom was already wide awake, no indication of sleepiness apparent, but an abundance of exhaustion.

Why?

Lance squinted in the darkness. It was hard to tell, but – paler face, maybe?

And, now that he thought about it, the hand carding through his hair was not a steady one. Fine tremors could be felt against his scalp if he focused.

Keith caught Lance’s drift. His eyes shifted away, suddenly wary to meet the sub’s.

“Go to sleep,” he commanded.

“Keith.”

“Go to _sleep_. I’m not going anywhere.”

“Keith. Honey.”

“Goodnight.”

Lance sighed and forced himself to reign in a warming temper. He had to keep in mind, Keith wasn’t yet accustomed to the whole opening-up-to-others thing. If memory served, he hadn’t been so great at it himself back when everything first went down.

“ _Keith_.”

“Lance, seriously. Go back to sleep so _I_ can go back to sleep.”

“You weren’t asleep in the first place.”

Keith shot him what Lance assumed was meant to be a piercing look. It reverberated more panic than anything.

“Please don’t start this. It’s late. Sleep.”

“Just...” Lance wiggled around to adjust his position. He extended his arms and made _come here_ motions with his hands. “Come cuddle with me. It’s okay if you’re feeling anxious, Keith. Just come here.”

Keith hesitated. Then he slowly moved closer, pulling Lance to his chest and allowing the sub to kiss across his jawline.

“I’m fine,” Keith said.

Lance conceded with, “You will be.”

“I’m not...”

A shiver ran through the other’s body, and he inhaled sharp and shaky.

“Please tell me the truth,” Lance whispered. “I already know. I’m already helping. Just say it.”

“If you’re so sure, why do you need to hear it?”

“I don’t. You need to admit it to _yourself_.”

There was a long pause. Lance winced as the tremors moved from Keith’s hands. They expanded to the rest of his body, encompassing it. How, exactly, had he planned on hiding this?

“Not feeling that good,” Keith admitted beneath his breath, voice strained. Lance tightened his hold. “I’m having some...some trouble breathing.”

“Do you think you’re going to have a panic attack?”

“No. I don’t know. Maybe.”

“Okay. That’s okay. Let’s work on calming you down before you get to that point, alright?”

“Y-yeah.”

To his credit, Keith put up much less of a fight than he had mere days before. Lance didn’t have to sit with his back to the locked bathroom door and listen helplessly as his mate spiraled. He ran soothing hands over Keith’s back, shushed and murmured words of comfort, and the Dom melted willingly into his embrace. Lance laid his head on Keith’s chest and reveled in the steady heartbeat that thrummed inside – for his _own_ comfort.

The shaking gradually slowed, then ceased. Keith drew deep, if uneven, breaths. His exhales ruffled Lance’s hair.

“Feeling better?” Lance asked after a solid few minutes. Keith nodded against him.

“Yeah.” He paused. “Thanks.”

“Don’t thank me. Just returning the favor. Thank you for waking me up.”

“’Course.”

The exhaustion that had likely been weighing on Keith for hours was heavy enough that even Lance began to feel crushed by it. He pressed a final kiss to Keith’s face before ducking his head to rest beneath his chin.

“Goodnight,” he whispered. “I love you.”

Keith was already halfway asleep. He managed a barely coherent, “Love you.”

Lance smiled. Maybe Keith still wasn’t great at asking for the help he needed, but he was getting better. That was really all he could have hoped for.

Better was enough.


	78. and these bandages i wear to keep out the cold

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Keith Kogane. That’s a nice name. Did your parents have K names as well?” 
> 
> Did your parents think they were naming a fucking eighty year old, Penelope? 
> 
> “No.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GOOD NEWS, i am no longer wallowing in sickness!! 
> 
> ALSO GOOD NEWS, this is the second to last chapter of act 5! since y'all have already basically figured it out, imma tell ya: we def are in a calm before the storm phase. act 6 is going to be like...literally all fluff. act 7 will be some light angst/hc type stuff. and then it's just...pretty much all downhill from there.
> 
> enjoy :)

“Keith Kogane. That’s a nice name. Did your parents have K names as well?”

_Did your parents think they were naming a fucking eighty year old, Penelope?_

The comment sprang to the tip of his tongue uninvited. It took every ounce of the minimal self-control Keith possessed to contain it. He pursed his lips tight to keep the floodgates from bursting.

Kind of sucked that she actually expected a reply.

“No.”

His instinct was to fix the doctor with an icy glare as he spoke. Keith stared at his lap instead. He’d promised Lance he would be on his best behavior. Which, really, was a fucking stupid thing for him to promise. Thirty minutes trapped in that room? He couldn’t guarantee shit.

Heigel remained completely unfazed by the one-word answers he’d given thus far. Her eyes sparkled in an _I know something you don’t_ way. As if she really thought she could get him to open up to her. A stranger. Someone he wouldn’t trust with his left sock, let alone his mental health.

She hummed thoughtfully. “You have a sub, correct? Lance?”

 _He’s literally one of your patients, you dipshit. Why are you acting like neither of us know that?_ “Yes.”

“And how are things between the two of you?”

Keith couldn’t help it. He aimed the glare at her with heart-stopping precision, because honestly, _fuck_ that shit. Was she even allowed to ask such invasive questions?

Well. She _was_ a therapist. But still.

“Fantastic.” He took care to keep any sarcastic edges from his tone, since that was actually the truth.

“You don’t sound too sure about that.”

“I’m pretty fucking sure.”

Heigel smiled. The expression was innocent enough, but Keith knew better. She no doubt planned to manipulate him into giving gradually longer answers. That was her first triumph.

“Well, I figured as much, so as long as you’re certain...”

Keith grit his teeth.

He had to hand it to her: Heigel was fucking smart. She knew exactly how to lay a trap he couldn’t help but fall into, even if he knew it was there. Bait like that was near impossible to resist.

“Why’d you ask, then?” He growled. “If you already knew-”

“I wanted to hear _your_ side of things, Keith. Your opinion is important.”

“I know it is!”

“You don’t act like it is.”

 _No._ Nope. He couldn’t do it. Therapy wasn’t for him, after all. He’d agreed to one visit, and if it didn’t help, his sub wouldn’t push. It definitely wasn’t helping. All therapists seemed to know how to do was fucking infuriate him.

“Don’t talk like you know me.”

“Am I?”

“Stop that!”

“I don’t think I’m speaking as if I know you.” For all her new patient’s anger, Heigel remained astonishingly calm. “I think I’m speaking like someone who would like to _get_ to know you.”

_“Why?”_

“Well, I can’t exactly help you work through problems in your life if I don’t know anything about your life, can I?”

Oh, great. Just awesome. Now Keith was angry for an entirely different reason. Now he was angry because, fuck, that actually _made sense._

He looked away again, less out of defiance and more for embarrassment.

It struck him like lightning. In an instant, their entire conversation was clarified. Heigel hadn’t done a damn thing wrong. Keith was the one being petulant and ridiculous. He was acting like a child.

No wonder Lance wanted him to get help so badly. His emotional regulation skills were – really something.

Keith opened his mouth with the thought that he should apologize, then closed it. This, too, was childish. An apology, an admission of wrongdoing and a plea for forgiveness, would only increase his mortification. He couldn’t bring himself to utter a simple _sorry_. A measly two syllables. Too difficult.

Maybe he really did need help.

Heigel saw his flounder and took pity. She leaned forward. Her eyes had less a sparkle and more a gleam of empathy.

“I know I have to earn your trust, Keith,” she said quietly. “Of course you don’t want to open up all the way just yet. That’s perfectly normal. A lot of people have broken your trust – you can’t go giving it away freely anymore. But, you know what?”

Keith swallowed. His voice rasped. “What?”

“How about you strive to gift me with your trust, and I’ll strive to earn it? I’m willing to put in the work if you are.”

“...yeah. Yeah. That, uh...that sounds good.”

She sat back and smiled again. The sparkle returned.

“Sounds good to me, too. Let me put the first foot forward: doctor-patient confidentiality, hm? This applies to all my patients. Unless you confide you have plans to hurt yourself or somebody else, not a soul outside this room will be privy to anything you tell me. Not a word. Lance included.”

“Yeah. That’s – yeah. Thank you.”

“No need to thank me, Keith. My job is to help you – and I _do_ want to help you. Alright?”

How many times could he say _‘yeah’_ before it got annoying? He’d probably already crossed that line. Oh, well. “Yeah. Alright.”

“Good. Now, we do still have twenty minutes. Is there anything specific you’d like to talk about?”

“There is, actually. There’s a lot.”

“I’m all ears.”

Fine.

Therapy wasn’t _too_ horrendous.


	79. they keep me from something that i'll never know

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “It’s so nice out here.” Lance sighed in content. He reluctantly looked away from the sunlight-gleamed water to turn and smile at his Dom. “We should do this more often. I missed our lake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's the last chapter of act 5!
> 
> please prepare yourself to savor act 6. it will be your last helping of true, straight-up fluff for a very long time.
> 
> :)
> 
> enjoy!

“It’s so nice out here.” Lance sighed in content. He reluctantly looked away from the sunlight-gleamed water to turn and smile at his Dom. “We should do this more often. I missed our lake.”

Keith offered a small smile of his own. It was faint, but looked genuine enough. “Guess we can now. I’ve gotta drive out here once a week, anyway. You might as well come with me.”

Butterflies soared out of his stomach, into his chest, and beat their wings against his rib cage. Lance stared with wide eyes. Heat pricked behind them.

“You mean it?” He whispered. Keith gave him a sheepish look. “Oh, my God, you mean it! Keith! Baby, I’m so proud of you!”

Lance lunged at Keith. He pressed their chests together and wrapped his arms tight around the other’s shoulders. Keith was forced to stop dead in his tracks. He hugged his sub in return, grip much gentler.

“Yeah, I mean it,” he said with a little huff of laughter. “You were right. It helped. Weird as fuck, but it helped.”

“See? You should listen to me more often. I’m always right.”

“Yes, dear.”

“Oh, hush.”

“Yes, dear.”

Lance gave him a halfhearted swat over the head. “Dork.”

“Hey! You can’t slap me. I do the swatting around here, mister.”

Lance giggled and kissed his cheek. His own grin stretched wide enough to make his face hurt – but even if he could pack the smile away, he had no desire to. Let it hurt. Sometimes, good things were a little painful. Like therapy (and Keith’s patent-pending swats).

“I knew you could do it.” Lance leaned back and cupped Keith’s face in both hands, swiping his thumbs beneath tired but happy eyes. “Seriously, I’m _so_ _proud_ of you. You didn’t have to get help, but you did. I know how hard it can be to ask.”

Keith nodded. “Yeah. It’s just – I never knew who would take me seriously, you know? Who would care.”

“I’ll always care. _Always_. You can trust me.”

“I know that now.” Keith kissed his forehead. Lance’s eyelids fluttered. “I know. Thank you, sweet boy. What would I do without you?”

“Die, probably.”

“I’d laugh, but it’s true. Can’t feed myself for shit.”

Lance prodded teasingly at his mate’s slim torso. “I’ve noticed.”

“Shut up, you brat.”

“Make me, _Sir_.”

A tongue shoved down his throat apparently passed as a way to silence his ever-running mouth. Lance couldn’t really complain.

“You ever feel like you’re missing out on stuff?” Keith suddenly parted from his sub to breathe the words against his lips, panting slightly.

A good brand of haze had already settled over Lance’s mind. He blinked and shook his head to clear it. “Huh?”

“Missing out. All the stuff we miss out on ‘cause our shitty brains are all fucked up. All the fun we could have as normal college kids if this kind of thing wasn’t always getting in the way. How much better our lives could be if we didn’t have to worry about panic attacks and pills. Just the quality of – _everything_. Missing out. You ever wonder?”

Lance took a moment to process. Not too long of a moment, though, because he saw Keith’s face redden and knew his Dom was starting to regret sharing.

“Sometimes,” Lance said slowly. “Honestly, yes. Sometimes I do.”

“So what do we do about it?”

Lance shrugged and made a helpless sort of noise. “We live with it, babe. We just...have to live with it.”

“Oh.” Keith grimaced. Lance was relieved to see he wasn’t _too_ dejected. “That sucks.”

“Aww, Keith.” The trademarked Lance McClain shit-eating grin bloomed. “You got a bad case of FOMO, baby?”

“God, you and your _mouth_ today.” Lance squeaked as Keith poked a playful finger along ticklish ribs. “Does this little shit have an off switch?”

Lance caught his Dom’s hand so he could gather enough breath to respond. “Mm, yes. It’s called an orgasm. Thirty minutes of silence guaranteed or your money back.”

“ _Eh_. Too much work.”

“Oh, Keith, honey. That explains so much.”

Lance earned himself another, more merciless burst of tickles as Keith searched for his ‘ _real_ off switch.’

Worth it.


	80. [VI] when i was younger i saw my daddy cry and curse at the wind

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Can I help you?” He asked.
> 
> Lance shrugged. Keith felt the movement where the other pressed against his back. “Not really. Are you watching porn?”

**ACT SIX: THE ONLY EXCEPTION**

**(chapters 80-93)**

 

* * *

 

["The Only Exception" - Paramore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ChXcD6Z4uvQ)

 

* * *

 

"When you love someone, you say their name different. Like it's safe inside your mouth." - Jodi Picoult

 

* * *

 

One day, Lance would learn better than to peer over other people’s shoulders at their screens _._

Today was not that day.

The sub rested a bony chin atop his head, like a rude, invasive six year old preparing to ask, _got any games?_ Keith had half a mind to insist he keep his grubby fingers to himself. He heaved an intentional sigh and rolled his eyes (though, truthfully, he didn’t mind all that much).

“Can I help you?” He asked.

Lance shrugged. Keith felt the movement where the other pressed against his back. “Not really. Are you watching porn?”

Ah, yes. _Are you watching porn?_ A nineteen year old’s equivalent of, _got any games?_

“Lance.”

“It’s okay! I don’t mind. You can watch porn in front of me...’s actually kind of hot.”

Exhibit A.

“ _Lance._ ”

“Could you say that a little more moan-y next time?”

Keith shut the laptop with probably a little more force than necessary and swung his feet over the side of the bed.

“Sorry to burst your horny little bubble, but no, I wasn’t watching porn.”

“Oh. Well. For future reference: you _can_...”

“Noted.”

Even he could hear the short, clipped edge to his own tone. And if _he_ could hear it, then naturally, Lance sensed the sudden rising of walls and closing gate, too.

“Why’d you minimize the window, then?” He asked, less playful and much softer.

“I didn’t. What window?”

“Yeah, you did. You were staring at something, I came up behind you, and you minimized it. Why? What was it? Can I see?”

Keith inhaled, then released the breath slow and even. He stood at their tiny dresser top, pretending to be interested in the various skin care products strewn across it. That alone, he realized too late, gave him away. He couldn’t give less of a shit about exfoliating washes and pore-shrinking moisturizers – a fact that annoyed his sub to no end.

“You really should organize these,” he said by way of response.

“Shush. I have a system.” The bed creaked. Lithe arms wrapped around his waist; kisses littered the back of his neck. “What were you looking at?”

“Fine. I was watching porn.”

“I wish.”

“That’s weird, Lance.”

Lance muffled a brief laugh in the crook between his Dom’s neck and shoulder. Keith closed his eyes to savor the sound.

“Watch it in front of me one day, I dare you. You won’t think it’s so weird anymore.” One final kiss was dropped to his shoulder before a bony chin returned to nestle over the spot. “Seriously, though. What’s got you down in the dumps, Mister Grumps?”

Honestly, after everything they’d been through – there didn’t seem to be much point in hiding things anymore. What did he have to lose?

“A picture of my dad,” Keith said. “Some memorial page on the fire department site.”

A sharp intake of breath. No exhale. “Oh. I’m...I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?”

“For pushing. I should have let it be. That’s kind of personal, isn’t it?”

Keith scoffed. “More personal than watching porn? Sweetheart, your priorities are all kinds of fucked up.”

“You say that like it’s news.” Lance untangled his arms from Keith’s waist to rest hands upon it instead, gently encouraging the other to turn and face him. Keith did, reluctantly. “So how do you feel?”

He shrugged. “Alright, I guess. It’s just weird. Obviously, I never forgot what he looked like, but – seeing his face. It made him feel real again, you know?”

His eyes flitted between Lance’s and other, random points of the room, but the sub didn’t complain. He must have figured this minimal eye contact and open conversation was better than anything he would have gotten before.

“I know.” Lance nodded, eyes brimmed with understanding. “My asking to see it still stands. If that’s okay with you, of course.”

“That’s more than okay.”

Lance grinned. Sunlight streamed through the window as if in competition. No fucking match; not even close.

"We could frame it, too. Maybe. If you want. But we don't have to," he tagged on when Keith's face twisted with uncertainty. "Just an idea."

"Rain check?"

Lance pecked his cheek, and Keith took the opportunity to breathe in the always comforting scent of sea-salt shampoo.

“Of course. No rush, babe. So...can I see it?”

“Yeah. Yeah, you can see it. Come here.”

Why had he fought against this for so long, fought the healing and the closure of sharing his past with his lifemate? Keith always thought opening up to another would be a painful experience. He assumed it would be akin to ripping the scab off an infected wound. Suffice to say, he was deadass fucking wrong.

Being wrong usually sucked. But sometimes it didn’t.


	81. he broke his own heart and i watched as he tried to reassemble it

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “First of all, ow. B: I don’t have a mullet.” 
> 
> Lance tugged on a strand grown out almost long enough to touch Keith’s shoulder blades. “Can I braid it?”

They were waiting in the coffee line when the elephant in the room was broached, and Lance had to wince. He’d been hoping, secretly (read: selfishly, shamefully) that Keith’s recent struggles would have diverted the spotlight elsewhere.

No such luck.

“When do you think you’ll see your dad again?” Keith asked. “If ever.”

Lance shifted his weight. “You mean the Sperm Donor?”

Keith smirked. The way he tilted his chin slightly into the air gave Lance the feeling his Dom was proud of him. Butterflies fluttered in a suddenly warm stomach at the notion.

“That’s exactly what I meant.” As suspected, his tone was tinged with pride. Lance offered a small but genuine smile of his own. “Sperm Donor. Are you, or nah? ‘Nah’ is totally fine by me, if that helps."

“Is, uh. Is ‘maybe’ fine by you, too?”

“I mean – yeah, it is. As long as that’s what you want.”

“It might be. I really don’t know yet. Guess I need a little more time to process.” Lance puffed out a slow breath and borrowed some of Keith’s words from the evening previous. “Rain check?”

“A million fucking rain checks, sweetheart.” Keith’s gaze was intense enough to make Lance want to look away, but he didn’t. Something special lied in the intensity – _devotion_ , maybe – and it offered comfort. “Whatever you think is best for you. You’re the one who’s affected by it.”

“You’re affected by it, too. Pretty badly. That matters.”

“No. My shit never got dealt with. It would have come up at some point, anyway.” Keith paused. He pursed his lips in a thoughtful way. “Maybe it’s better it did now. Festered for too long already. I could have a been a hell of a lot worse off if none of this hit me ‘till thirty.”

Lance hated how much sense that made. Again, _selfishly_. The logic left him with no further excuse. His feelings were now once again the pinnacle thing where contact with Alexander was concerned. His choice.

“Stop making sense, mullet,” Lance mumbled as he leaned his head on his Dom’s shoulder. “Makes my brain hurt.”

“First of all, _ow_. B: I don’t have a mullet.”

Lance tugged on a strand grown out almost long enough to touch Keith’s shoulder blades. “Can I braid it?”

His face heated along with his left ass cheek when the arm draped loosely around his waist moved to land a warning swat. The embarrassment of a public scolding was pillowed by Keith whispering playfully in his ear, “Yes. But no pictures.”

Keith probably had no clue just how seriously his sub took the offer. That, Lance thought with an egotistical little smirk of his own, was the Dom's own fault.

(Maybe he’d sneak a couple of pictures, too, after convincing Keith to sleep in the braids so his hair would be all wavy in the morning. Just to give Shiro a good laugh when he got back. Definitely not to share in the A.S.S. group chat or anything.)


	82. and my mama swore that she would never let herself forget

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance caught the implication Mama likely didn’t even know she’d implied, and he hated it with such a passion. What she meant was that Alexander gave her anything she wanted that money could buy. But what if she wanted genuine affection? Could he put that on a grocery delivery list, have it carved out of gold, serve it on fine china for dessert? No.

Though Mama always spoke so hushed and, at times, even tense on the phone – a product of fear, Lance knew – hearing her voice was a relief. A lovely way to take his mind off the less pleasant happenings of everyday life.

Her next statement was not lovely or relieving. Lance full-out cringed.

“We could pay for a belated claiming ceremony,” Mama whispered. “I know you and Keith didn’t get one. It would be fun, don’t you think?”

“Alexander hates Keith,” Lance said flatly. “And he insists my bisexuality is a phase. He’d never go for it.”

There was a long pause. He wondered if Mama could hear his breathing the way he heard hers. If it was as soothing for her as it was for him.

“I could convince him,” she said slowly. “He’s – he’s not as bad as you seem to think, _mijo_ , really. That’s just what you see. When I want something, all I have to do is ask. Your Papi takes care of me. He does.”

Lance caught the implication Mama likely didn’t even know she’d implied, and he hated it with _such_ a passion. What she meant was that Alexander gave her anything she wanted that money could buy. But what if she wanted genuine affection? Could he put that on a grocery delivery list, have it carved out of gold, serve it on fine china for dessert? No.

And, though he shuddered to imagine his parents’ sex life, evidence in the form of five children aside – what about subspace? There was no _way_ she got that euphoric, soul-cleansing bliss Keith worked so hard to provide for him. Alexander likely gave her a surface-level version. Something he could achieve without having to take too much of the focus off himself; just enough to keep her from getting sick and raising doctors’ eyebrows as to his treatment of her. Minimal effort.

Did she even know what real subspace felt like?

“ _Mijo?_ Are you still there?”

“I’m here.” Lance cleared his throat. “Honestly, Mama? I don’t really want one.”

“Why not?”

Why not? Where did he _start?_

“Most people don’t have ceremonies.” People with money to blow had ceremonies. “We don’t really know enough people to fill a venue.” A ceremony itself sounded unappealing; a ceremony with thirty guests sounded like mortification in a photo collection. “And...”

“And what, love?” She wasn’t the slightest bit offended. He knew she wouldn’t be. She never was. “You can tell me. It’s alright.”

“And I don’t want his money. Any of it, for anything. I fought _so_ hard to get a scholarship to the Garrison, just because he was too greedy to scratch the surface of an offshore account. I’ve gone this long without needing him to pay my way. I’m not going to start groveling now.”

A weight lifted from his chest at the same time that anxiety crushed it. He hadn’t meant to make it sound like _she_ groveled (though she did) or like _she_ wouldn’t make it in the world without his money.

But that was just the thing. She wouldn’t.

Mama had been cleaving to Alexander since she was sixteen years old. Sure, he hadn’t always been so wealthy, but he’d always _provided_. She’d never lived as an adult without him. Once one became accustomed to a lifeguard, they suddenly forgot how to swim once the tower was vacated. Such was an unfortunate side effect of subhood, the helpless dependence of it all.

God knew he’d drown without Keith.

“I understand.” Mama was even quieter now. Lance strained to make out the words. She sounded choked on her own emotions, and he choked on them, too. “No, that’s – you’re right, _mijo_. You’re independent from your parents now. You’re an adult. You want to do things for yourself. I understand.”

Not quite what he meant. Lance bit back the urge to correct her and swallowed a rush of acid guilt.

“Thank you for the offer, Mama.” He whispered, too, though he had no reason to, nobody to hide from. Solidarity. “It was kind of you to ask. I appreciate you thinking of us, I really do. But – yes. You’re right. I can’t rely on his money forever. Gotta spread my wings and fly, or whatever.”

She sniffled. “Of course. You’re all grown up now. Just remember, your mama’s never pushing you out of this nest, yeah? You’re always welcome.”

His own thoughts shocked him. Even scared him a little.

_I’ll feel a hell of a lot more welcome once your Dom’s six feet under._

“Don’t worry, Mama. I won’t forget.”


	83. and that was the day that i promised i'd never sing of love (if it does not exist)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “How did you know you were in love?” 
> 
> Pidge dropped into the sand next to him, too heavy and morose for such a sunny weekend. It was weird to see her in something as feminine as a two-piece swimsuit. Even weirder that she’d removed her glasses, and long, honey hair fell to her waist rather than sitting in a sloppy bun atop her head. 
> 
> Weirdest of all was her weird-ass fucking question. What the fuck? 
> 
> Keith stared, wide-eyed. “Are you seriously asking me for romantic advice?”

Sand crumbled beneath and between his toes. Mini waves crashed on the shore, reminding him somewhat of a lullaby, and even more of one particular set of eyes. All in all, it...wasn’t half bad.

Keith had never been much of a beach person, but goddamn, he could get used to this shit. Sure, it was more of a large, glorified lake, seeing as they were inland, and not Lance’s beloved ocean. But the location _did_ have beach in the name. Close enough.

“How did you know you were in love?”

Pidge dropped into the sand next to him, too heavy and morose for such a sunny weekend. It was weird to see her in something as feminine as a two-piece swimsuit. Even weirder that she’d removed her glasses, and long, honey hair fell to her waist rather than sitting in a sloppy bun atop her head.

Weirdest of all was her weird-ass fucking question. What the _fuck?_

Keith stared, wide-eyed. “Are you seriously asking me for romantic advice?”

“Not for _advice_. It’s not like I have anyone particular in mind. I just – I don’t get it. The whole ‘love’ thing. What does it feel like? How’d you know he wasn’t just, like, a buddy?”

“I don’t usually get the overwhelming desire to fuck someone whose _just, like, a buddy,_ so there’s that.” Keith blinked and slowly turned his eyes back to the shore, where Hunk and Lance were wrestling in the more tide-wet sand. It was obvious from their point of view that Hunk was letting him win. Of course, none of them would ever have the heart to tell him as much. “Can’t you ask your mom about this shit?”

“My mom’s a sub,” Pidge snapped. “I’m not gonna ask her about _Dom_ urges, that’s embarrassing.”

As much as Keith disliked Lance’s ‘Mister Grumps’ term when it was wielded against him – well. The words rested on the tip of his tongue. It seemed fitting. _Damn you and your catchy rhymes, Lance McClain._

“Okay,” he said shortly. “That’s my answer, then. You’re great and all, Pidge, and I love you as a friend, but I don’t exactly want to fuck you. When I started loving Lance, it was – _intense_ – and I wanted to fuck him. That’s it. That’s how I knew. Bye.”

Pidge didn’t move. Keith rolled his eyes and fought the urge to growl. How much more awkward could a single conversation get? Talking to a girl almost exactly three years younger than him about the birds and the bees wasn’t exactly on his homo-ass bucket list.

“What if I never fall in love?” Her voice was soft, suddenly. Absurdly uncharacteristic. Keith looked back toward her out of shock.

Oh. So _that_ was how much more awkward a single conversation could get. Fuck only knew why she’d chosen him to spill her insecurities to. He’d been reliably informed they had therapists in the world for this exact reason.

_Abort, abort, abort!_

“For a long time...” Keith shifted his weight awkwardly, words slow and measured. “For a long time, I thought the same thing. I never thought I’d find Lance. But I did, okay? You’ll find a sub, too.” He almost tacked on an _I promise_ for the sake of settling her nerves, then thought better of it. God forbid, if she did end up alone, he wasn’t exactly thrilled about the idea of an eighty year old Pidge kicking down the door of his nursing home to beat his ass for lying.

“What if I don’t _want_ to fall in love?”

_Plot twist._

She avoided his eyes. Not that Keith was trying to catch them (except he was, maybe, just a little).

Clearly, she felt ashamed to ask. As if there was something wrong with her; like she was damaged or broken if she didn’t want romantic love.

Keith was not much for all the mushy heart-to-heart shit. Even with Lance, he struggled through serious talks. But – _fuck_. This record had to be set straight.

“Who the hell said you have to?” He asked.

Pidge finally looked at him, eyes wide and wet. “Huh?”

“Who said you have to fall in love?” Keith shrugged. “It’s not a law, Pidge. Plenty of subs don’t want romantic love, either. It’s okay to claim someone as a best friend. People do it every day.”

“But don’t subs, like, _need_ sex for subspace? I thought they could get sick and die if they went years without it.”

“Subs who _want_ sex need sex for subspace,” Keith corrected, voice firm. “I’m not sure on the specifics, but I’m pretty sure you can put an asexual or aromantic sub into subspace with a really intense snuggle-and-praise session, or some shit like that.”

“Oh.” Pidge blinked. “I...didn’t know that.”

“Obviously.”

Why didn’t those sex-ed fuckers teach shit like this? It wasn’t right for a fifteen-almost-sixteen year old to walk around thinking she was damaged goods because the adults responsible for educating her fucking _failed._

Keith was appeased to know he’d helped at least one aro-ace kid (who, apparently, hadn’t even realized she was aro-ace). Pidge looked at him like he’d just single-handedly unlocked some unsolvable mystery with a key she could never find. It baffled him that the key was everyday information she should have been handed a long time ago.

“Thanks.” Pidge cleared her throat and looked away. A rare blush reddened the tips of her ears. “Can we keep this between us for now?”

Keith nodded firmly. “Of course. Your business, not mine.”

“Thanks,” she repeated, seemingly at a loss for words.

“You’re welcome. I guess.”

Significantly more awkward than he’d _ever_ thought a single conversation could get – but, looking at the relief and the small smile on her face, Keith couldn’t regret it.


	84. maybe i know somewhere deep in my soul that love never lasts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Oh, no! Lifeguard! Lifeguard!” Keith shouted. The words were infused with sarcasm (likely to keep from alarming the actual lifeguard on duty). “Oh, no! I’m drowning! Save me, hot lifeguard!”
> 
> Keith took a visible breath before ducking his head beneath the water.
> 
> For a moment, Lance just stared, open-mouthed.
> 
> Pidge half-growled, half-sighed. “Would you please just go ‘save’ your dork so he’ll shut the fuck up?”

Lance kicked pointlessly at the shallow water, for no other reason than to feel it, and smiled. His heart thrummed happily in his chest, as if it sensed his joy at being on a beach. Sensed that he was _home_.

Granted, it wasn’t a real beach. The sign might have said so, but he knew better. This was a large lake with sand shores. No ocean, not a true beach, period.

Close enough to a beach for Lance to pretend, though, and that was more than alright by him.

Even pseudo-beaches held some sort of magical property human science couldn’t explain. He was thoroughly convinced of as much, and refused to let himself be swayed. For God’s sake, he’d seen _Keith and Pidge_ having a one-on-one conversation earlier. Unforced. Nothing to make them do so but their own free will. That _had_ to be a sign.

“I’m gonna die,” Pidge groaned when she finally approached him and Hunk, trudging to join them in ankle-deep water.

Lance raised an eyebrow. “Aww, Pidgey, did you leave your arm floaties at home? Want Lancey-Lance to teach you how to swim?”

One of her infamous hellfire glares quickly shut him up.

“I know how to swim, dumbass. I’m talking about my birthday.”

“You mean your sweet sixteen party?” Hunk asked, wide eyes shining with excitement. “Why are you gonna die? Sweet sixteens are awesome!”

“My experience is limited to quinceaneras, but I concur,” Lance said.

“I don’t _want_ a party,” Pidge insisted through grit teeth, arms crossed over her chest.

Lance and Hunk shared a look.

“Then...tell your mom you don’t want a party?” Hunk suggested sheepishly. Lance kept his lips zipped and settled on an encouraging nod. Pidge’s temper rose almost visibly the longer they stayed on the topic. Hunk was a braver man than he.

“ _Ha!_ Right, okay. I said I didn’t want a party, not that that I didn’t wanna live to _see_ my sixteenth.”

Pidge continued to bemoan the injustice of an unwanted party thrust upon her, and Hunk, with the patience of a saint, continued to offer sympathetic shrugs and half-answers – but Lance’s attention was diverted elsewhere. Specifically, his eyes and smirk-twisted lips were fixated on a familiar figure flying down the beach toward them with unnecessary speed.

“What are you _doing?”_ He called with a huff of incredulous laughter as Keith ran right past him and into the not-ocean water.

Keith didn’t respond right away. His steps became slower and more uncoordinated as he trudged into deeper waters. The Dom continued until he was neck-deep, then turned toward him. Despite the distance, Lance could clearly see his ear-splitting grin.

“Oh, no! Lifeguard! Lifeguard!” Keith shouted. The words were infused with sarcasm (likely to keep from alarming the _actual_ lifeguard on duty). “Oh, no! I’m drowning! Save me, hot lifeguard!”

Keith took a visible breath before ducking his head beneath the water.

For a moment, Lance just stared, open-mouthed.

Pidge half-growled, half-sighed. “Would you please just go ‘save’ your dork so he’ll shut the fuck up?”

“You’re mean when you’re stressed,” Lance said, then hurried off splashing into the lake before his friend could exact her revenge.

Keith sputtered and gasped for air with an extreme level of dramatization. Lance had the mildly humorous thought that the real lifeguard was going to hate their guts by the time they left. What with the early fall weather in Arizona – warm enough to keep the water from endangering their core body temps, but cold enough that he shivered when a particularly strong gust of wind blew – the ‘beach’ was almost empty. A few other small groups mulled about. They didn’t make nearly as much commotion.

Stuck in that tower with nothing to do but watch _this?_ Probably a lifeguard’s least favorite thing in the world, ever.

Lance couldn’t bring himself to care. Water lapped almost tenderly at his face as he approached.

“Oh, thank _fuck,_ lifeguard!” Keith gurgled around an intentional mouthful of water. “Aren’t you gonna save me? I’m drowning!”

“No,” Lance said flatly. “I came out to watch. Could you drown a little slower? I enjoy the existential terror.”

“Wow! Kinky, lifeguard!”

Keith disappeared again beneath the surface. Lance felt the slightest of tugs on his ankle – a warning, he knew, and he took a deep breath to prepare himself.

Sure enough, seconds later, the tug became a yank. Lance’s eyes burned as they adjusted to the water. The upside of a fake beach: _much_ cleaner than the ocean. He had no trouble finding his Dom.

Keith sat curled in cannon-ball position on the lake floor, five fingers wrapped securely around his mate’s ankle. He offered a knowing smirk and a wave with his free hand. Lance smiled in return and aimed a relatively gentle kick at his side. The grip on his other leg remained steadfast.

‘Drowning’ his ass. More like a knock-off lake siren.

When air bubbles stopped releasing in a steady stream from the sub’s nose, Keith let go. Lance surfaced with ease and inhaled deeply, shaking his hair like a freshly bathed dog. Keith popped up beside him a moment later.

“I thought you were drowning!” Lance pouted. “You can’t fake needing the lifeguard – _so_ not cool!”

Keith grinned. He took both of Lance’s wrists and pulled him closer. “Sorry, hot lifeguard. Here – let me make it up to you.”

A kiss, sloppy and wet from either the water or their mouths themselves, Lance wasn’t sure – both, maybe.

But _God_ , he’d save a ‘drowning’ generic-brand siren any day if this was the reward.


	85. and we've got to find other ways to make it alone (or keep a straight face)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance closed his eyes and sent a brief prayer to the universe – please, can’t I just go one day without having to worry about someone? – then realized a nanosecond too late he’d probably jinxed it. Such seemed to be the pattern of his luck. Laughing stars and all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mmmmm Y'ALL before I get jumped for only updating one or two a day!! lemme explain!!
> 
> i got behind in the actual writing while I was sick and i'm tryna give myself time to catch up - otherwise I'll be stuck writing the 3 chapters I need to post the day before they go up and thats,,,not a fun thing. bear with me for a little bit THX

Lance sighed and set his pen down on the table. He watched her with squinted eyes, studying her body language, as if he could somehow decipher what was wrong without the use of words.

He couldn’t just straight-up ask why she looked so down. They didn’t know each other that well. What if she said she was...having period cramps, or something? How awkward would _that_ be?

Lance closed his eyes and sent a brief prayer to the universe – _please, can’t I just go one day without having to worry about someone?_ – then realized a nanosecond too late he’d probably jinxed it. Such seemed to be the pattern of his luck. Laughing stars and all.

It was Nevaeh’s own petition they were discussing. Whether or not they should recirculate it online, open signatures up the public to increase their numbers and, hopefully, apply a little more pressure. Whether or not the administration would even care. The petition was important to Nevaeh; she’d made as much clear. He would have thought she’d pay more attention.

The only Dom among them sat at Nevaeh’s side – Alyssa, who Lance had wholeheartedly welcomed into their group. Her father ran fundraising for awareness of preventable sub medical issues at Plant City Regional, and she shared his passion for it. Nevaeh herself sat with feet flat on the floor for once. Her arms were crossed as usual, but her stare pointed downward.

Alyssa had taken the liberty of kicking her own feet up on the table, which looked weird with her bright yellow, daisy-clipped wedges and perfectly pedicured toenails, but whatever. Apparently, it wasn’t a true A.S.S. meeting until somebody sat in an obnoxious pose. Lance was only grateful Alyssa wore a pair of white cloth shorts beneath her sundress. It was currently the only thing preventing exposure.

“We should put it up online! We can _make_ the administration care! Suck it, Big Man!”

Jude’s short, chocolate curls bobbed animatedly as they spoke. Even from halfway across the room, Lance could see their hands trembling and their wide eyes flickering excitedly around at the other four occupants.

He heaved a loud sigh and rubbed at one temple, elbow propped on the table.

“ _Jude,_ ” Lance said with exasperated finality. “Are you serious? I thought we talked about this, man. You _have_ to stop drinking coffee before our meetings!”

“Or, like, ever.” Leo shot them a weary look from the neighboring seat. “Do you go to class like this in the mornings?”

“I’m just very passionate, okay?! Passionate!”

Nevaeh snorted and mumbled beneath her breath. “Junkie.”

Alyssa shot the other girl a disapproving look, but didn’t say anything. Likely because she didn’t want to come across as a Dom trying to control subs within their own haven.

Lance, on the other hand, had no problem coming off a little pushy or demanding. He was meant to be their leader, after all.

“Nevaeh!” He snapped, and her head popped up. “Be nice. There’s no reason for that.”

Warning flashed in his eyes. As expected, she wasn’t perturbed. She did lower her gaze to her feet without any response, though, jaw clenched a little tighter than before.

“No, it’s fine, really!” Jude vibrated at a sonic frequency. “Caffeine does kinda make me look like a junkie, doesn’t it? God, I love coffee!”

Lance peeked at the clock. _When, O’ Lord in Heaven, will this torture end?_

“Alright.” He closed the three-ring binder open to a copy of Nevaeh’s petition. He’d thought it would help, having a physical place to keep things such as copies to hand out to his A.S.S. members. Obviously, he was wrong. “We have five minutes left, guys. Let’s just put it to a vote. All in favor of recirculating the petition online and opening signatures to the public?”

Including his own, four hands raised. Nevaeh sat motionless.

Lance grit his teeth. “All opposed?”

Zero hands. Still, she was motionless; a vote wasted.

Did they _have_ to use that whole fifty-five minutes on petty arguments? Couldn’t they have done this from the start? _Note to self: take votes_ before _chaos steals the reigns._

“Are we done?” Jude asked, already halfway to their feet. “I need to get some more coffee!”

Alyssa turned to place a hand on their arm. “No, sweetie. You really don’t.”

“Yes.” Lance slumped in his seat, utterly defeated. “Yes, we’re done. I’ll put the petition up later this week. Thank you, everybody.”

One by one, the heathens trickled out, chattering among themselves as they went. Jude chattered a lot more than anyone else.

Nevaeh was last. She waited until Alyssa was gone, door inching shut behind the Dom, before she screeched her own chair back against the tile.

“Nevaeh.” Lance spoke calm and neutral. He didn’t have much energy for anything else. “Can I talk to you, please?”

She turned slowly, seething her breaths through clenched teeth. It reminded him of a high school student pissed at being asked to _see me after class._

Which led Lance to be struck by the realization of how much he _felt_ like a teacher in that moment. He winced. _Ew. I’m Adam._

“As a friend,” he added quickly. “You’re not in trouble, or anything.”

Nevaeh’s scowl deepened exponentially. She stared him down, narrow-eyed. Lance expected her to say something like, _of course I’m not in ‘trouble,’ dipshit, you’re not an authority figure._

What she ground out instead was, _“Friend?”_

Lance blinked, then gulped. His heart pounded. He had said that, hadn’t he?

“Oh. S-sorry. I didn’t mean to – like, if you don’t _want_ to be-”

“Nah, it’s fine. Don’t worry about it.”

In an instant, everything from Nevaeh’s voice to the posture of her shoulders grew soft. She stared at her own shuffling feet. Her crossed arms looked less like anger and more like protection.

Lance swayed in his seat, dizzy and nauseated from her merry-go-round of emotions.

“Are you okay?” He asked before he could change his mind. “You’re not usually this quiet. And you didn’t even put your feet up on the table today.”

Lance was granted a small token of relief when her lips twitched. “Seriously? I didn’t put my feet on the table. _That’s_ your measurement of my okay-ness?”

“To be fair, that’s pretty much all I know about you.”

“And yet, you called me your friend.”

He struggled to find a response to that. “Um – yes. I did.”

She quirked an eyebrow. The judgment practically radiated off her.

“ _Sooo_...are we friends, or not?”

“I mean, yeah. I guess. If you want to be.”

“I don’t call just anyone ‘busy bee,’ busy bee.”

Lance allowed himself a small smile of triumph. Nevaeh smiled, too, but it didn’t distract him from her tired eyes or the distinct of lack on converse smudges on the tables.

“You never answered my question,” Lance said. “Are you okay? Because you can talk to me if you’re not. You know, since we’re officially friends and all.”

Nevaeh blew out a slow breath. She averted her eyes and shifted her weight. “I’m fine. I just – have a question for you.”

“Okay. What is it?”

“It’s really stupid.”

“I bet it’s not.”

“It’s kind of personal.”

Lance faltered that time, less earnest in his response. "Oh. Well. I mean, I’ll _try..."_

“How did you find such a good Dom?”

Nevaeh spat the words out with such speed that half of them slurred into one another, nearly indecipherable. Lance stared at her nervous face for a moment while he processed.

“How did I find Keith…?” He asked. “Or, like, how did I know to pick him?”

“I – both, I guess? I don’t know.” Nevaeh melted into more of an anxious wreck with each passing second of conversation. Lance wouldn’t have thought it possible for a single person to fidget in so many ways at the same time. “I’ve just seen you around campus together, and last week he came to walk you back from group. And, yeah, I think he’s annoying as fuck, but he obviously cares a lot about you. I just don’t get how you did it.”

Lance stared in a mixture of fascination and bewilderment. He shook his head numbly. “How I did what?”

“How you found someone who treats you like that. Or how you _got_ him to treat you like that. Any, you know...pointers?”

He’d asked Keith the day before what civil conversation he and Pidge could have possibly shared on that beach. Keith simply said, _she wanted romantic advice. Don’t ask. Her business, not mine._

First Pidge; now Nevaeh.

What could have given anybody the absolutely deranged idea that he and Keith were in a position to give romance tips? They were an actual, flaming trainwreck most days. What part of them skidding off the tracks, screaming and slamming random buttons all the while, did these girls find desirable enough to replicate?

“Nevaeh, I didn’t _do_ anything,” Lance said. “We existed. We met. I liked him and he liked me. And now...here we are.”

Their story was a little more complicated than he made it out to be. Infinitely more complicated, actually – but he wasn’t about to dive into all that.

Nevaeh’s shoulders slumped as if in disappointment. Lance almost felt bad, but what did he have to feel bad for? It wasn’t like he harbored some secret, magical love potion.

“Oh,” she said. “Just be myself, and I’ll find someone eventually. That’s your advice?”

Lance gave a cautious shrug. “Sorry. ‘S all I’ve got.”

“Okay. Thanks, Hannah Montana.”

She turned on her heel, bag slung over her shoulder, and Lance almost stopped her.

He didn’t. The expression Nevaeh wore wasn’t exactly a happy one, but it was at least relaxed. Neutral. Lance had been wildly unhelpful, but still managed to wash away her turmoil, by some stroke of luck.

And that, he realized as her footsteps faded down the hall, was the answer: luck. He found what ended up being one of the highest points of his life in the midst of his lowest point possible.

Lance sighed and leaned back in his chair, rubbing a weary hand down his face.

Maybe he could learn to put up with Jude’s coffee jitters and these long, pointless meetings.

Who knew what good might come of it?


	86. and i've always lived like this, keeping a comfortable distance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do they have the same numbers?”
> 
> His sisters turned, conversation cut short. They’d carried on with idle chatter long after Lance parted to drift in his thoughts. A mention of their older brothers had caught him, and he hung on it, coat to hook.
> 
> Veronica recovered first. “Does who have what now?”
> 
> “Luis. Marco. Phone numbers. If I call their contacts, will it be them?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> aaahhhHHHHHH??? when was the last time I updated?? Wednesday??? i'm SO SORRY AJHFKJBFKJBSDFF. I keep getting sick. I hate the digestive system. stupid organs with their stupid need to function properly
> 
> GOODS NEWS IS you'll be getting another chapter later today, and hopefully starting tomorrow we can get back to regular updates! thank you guys for bearing with me!
> 
> enjoy!

“Do they have the same numbers?”

His sisters turned, conversation cut short. They’d carried on with idle chatter long after Lance parted to drift in his thoughts. A mention of their older brothers had caught him, and he hung on it, coat to hook.

Veronica recovered first. “Does who have what now?”

“Luis. Marco. Phone numbers. If I call their contacts, will it be them?”

_And if it’s them, and if they know it’s me, will they pick up?_

Couldn’t answer that one, though, could they?

Two expressions smoothed. Pinched eyebrows unfolded and raised in surprise, disbelief, maybe hope. The girls shared a look. No, not just a look – a _Look._

“Yeah,” Rachel said slowly. Her gaze meandered back toward him. Veronica’s followed, but made a few stops along the way. “Yeah, they do. Do you – want to call them?”

“I do,” Lance said. “It’s been a while.”

Veronica’s grin burst with the subtlety of a firework, gusted exhale in place of a _boom_ , and the logic behind her joy was lost on him. Rachel smiled with more tact. Her lips unfurled gracefully, corner to corner, the pages of an old book splayed open – again, the significance, Lance couldn’t locate. But then, he’d never been much for reading.

“Lance, that’s great!” Veronica said.

Rachel nodded, earnest eyes wide. “I’m sure they’d love to hear from you. You’re right; it’s been a while.”

 _How are you so sure?_ Lance wanted to ask. Could Rachel guarantee warm reconnections, or was she only saying that to appease a sibling’s anxiety, to metaphorically manicure his gnawed nails? They shared the unfortunate foot-in-mouth gene, after all. He said things he didn’t mean all the time. Let extra words slip past his filter. Exaggerated a lot. Rachel’s promises – or what he interpreted as such – had to be taken with a grain of salt. She, like him, often didn’t realize she’d made them.

A step up from Veronica’s promises, at least. Hers were never misunderstandings and _hurt_ when they broke. Crafted and sealed with intention, shelved to gather dust, then shattered furiously the instant somebody recalled their existence.

(But he had to stop thinking like that, because Veronica wasn’t going to flee as panic response anymore, wouldn’t let fight-or-flight tear the sloppy stitch job that bound them, ever. She promised things with care now. Took a feather duster to the vows yet to meet their cash-in dates. She’d changed. She’d changed, right?)

So many words to chew. Too many. Lance ground them between his teeth and choked it all down, anyway. He gagged, then coughed. Rachel patted his back.

“Whoa. Want a sip of my water?” Veronica asked.

Lance stared at the proffered bottle. “No, thanks.”

 _Might catch those germs you and ‘Papi’ share._ _W_ _hatever viral infection makes you_ _both_ _wan_ t  _to_ _run from all the things that matter and –_

She’d changed. She’d changed. She’d changed.

He swallowed the rest of his wariness down dry and plastered on a smile.

“Too long,” Lance said. “I think I’m gonna call. Catch up, and stuff. I really do miss them.”

“Did you miss us?”

Her face was monotone as her voice. Veronica stared, and Lance stared back. Rachel blinked owlishly – the poor girl, caught between silent crossfire in a war she hadn’t signed up for, unable to retreat. Or perhaps unaware of the risk a bullet might pierce her.

“Yes, Vee,” he said, and relief blossomed when he realized it wasn’t a lie. “I missed you. Both of you. I’m glad we’re hanging out again.”

“I know.” Except she didn’t, not ten seconds ago, or she wouldn’t have asked. “We missed you, too, Lance. It wasn’t the same.”

Questions, _how so, please elaborate_ , buzzed in his mind like flies. Lance pursed his lips to reject their existence so he wouldn’t have to grind them up and gulp them down and gag-cough-sputter again later.

“Good to know.”

Luis and Marco. Marco and Luis. His brothers. His _brothers_. How awful of him to so often forget they existed, go days on end without their names crossing his mind.

Time to remedy that – if they would allow it.


	87. and up until now i had sworn to myself that i'm content with loneliness

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The line rang once, twice, three times, and for a moment Lance considered hanging up.

The line rang once, twice, three times, and for a moment Lance considered hanging up.

His thumb hovered over the ‘end call’ button. He forced it to stand down with aching uncertainty. Who knew a little red circle could be so menacing? The laughter was almost audible.

 _Ring, ring_ – a shuffle. Silence.

Not a _hello?_ nor anything of the sort. Instead, a breathless, “... _Lance?_ That you, kid?”

“Marco.” His voice croaked. He swallowed; the lump in his throat stuck, unconvinced. “Yeah, man. It’s – it’s me.”

“God, it’s so good to hear from you. I missed you, _hermano._ ”

And, honestly, Lance could have asked a million questions. Could have thought a thousand negative thoughts. Ones like _then why’d you never call?_ or even a bold _I don’t believe you._ Such would have been the easier routes, paths clearly outlined and engraved into the earth with time and wear.

He chose the road less traveled. Not because it wasn’t difficult, but because the sound of his brother’s voice echoed a distant memory. _Quitters never win, hermano,_ Marco said as he handed back the baseball glove eight year old Lance had thrown down. _Come on; I know you can do it. Let’s try again._

“I missed you, too,” Lance said with wet eyes, and he meant it.

* * *

By the time he and Marco finished trudging through awkward, sniffled sentences punctuated by throat clearing – and a few moments of belly-aching laughter along the way – his phone told him nearly an hour had passed. Lance blinked. That hardly seemed right.

But, then again, it’d always been that way between them. An hour of baseball practice in the backyard turned into five. Before he knew it, lunch had barely passed and Mama was calling them in for dinner.

Time never moved so fluidly with Luis. Minutes were more disjointed. One inched by with all the urgency of a snail. The next ten, a hummingbird’s wings, _flutter_ , gone.

Not that such was a _bad_ thing. Just...different.

In the background, kids shouted with glee and a dog barked incessantly. The children’s noise was cut off by Lisa’s familiar voice, equally as distant from the phone, scolding her offspring for something or another. Luis was silent. Lance listened to him breathe.

“You there?” He murmured after a moment. There was a shuffle of fabric against the speaker. His heart pounded in the back of his throat along with a welling sensation of nausea; the sickening thought that his eldest brother might actually hang up.

Luis didn’t. “I’m here, buddy.”

The words were strained and suspiciously thick. Not exactly what Lance expected, if he was honest. Luis had always been by far the most calm and collected of the McClain siblings. Not one for sentimental tears.

How much could change in fourteen months?

“I missed you. It’s...been too long.”

“It really has. You gotta tell me everything about that fancy school you went to, bud. Cute Doms and shitty food included."

“Of course.” Lance smiled bitterly. _Not everything._ “Everything.”


	88. because none of it was ever worth the risk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> How was he supposed to know? He was so out of the loop. Everyone else sat front-row on the rollercoaster – meanwhile, Lance sprinted along beside the track, huffing and puffing in a desperate attempt to keep up.
> 
> Impossible as that already sounded, it felt a billion times more difficult in practice.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise the fluff for this act is on the way! and like I said...enjoy it...bc things start heading downhill in act 7
> 
> enjoy!

Rachel’s question bore into him via her eyes before she ever opened her mouth.

“Well?” She slid into the seat beside Lance and nudged his shoulder. “You gonna tell us how it went?”

Lance lifted a hesitant gaze toward Veronica. She moved much slower. Her steps were measured, and when she chose a chair poised across the table from her siblings, the way she sat was stiff. He remembered too late her unease with their public get-togethers.

“My dorm’s a mess,” Lance said quickly, earning a confused frown from Rachel. “This was easier.”

“It’s fine.” Veronica sniffed. She crossed her legs and held folded holds in her lap. _Thanks for the job interview._ “Did you call them?”

“I did. It was...” A hell of a lot more pleasant than he expected, to be perfectly honest. “...nice. Really nice. I missed them a lot. Did you know Sylvia’s wearing glasses now?”

Veronica nodded slowly. “We saw them in August.”

“Oh.”

“Yeah.”

How was he supposed to know? He was so out of the loop. Everyone else sat front-row on the rollercoaster – meanwhile, Lance sprinted along beside the track, huffing and puffing in a desperate attempt to keep up.

Impossible as that already sounded, it felt a billion times more difficult in practice.

“Anyways.” Lance cleared his throat and tapped the table rhythmically. “Yeah, it was – good. After all this time, I guess I just forgot how good it feels to be together like that. You know? The five of us against the world.”

_Back when we had no choice. Back when it was either stick together or drown. ‘The five of us against the world’ or perish._

If Veronica had a clue where his train of thought was rolling, it didn’t show. She softened considerably.

“I’m sure they feel the same way,” she said. Lance didn’t miss the underbelly of longing in her tone; the _I feel the same way_ she couldn’t bring herself to speak into existence. “You’re family. They love you.”

Rachel looked between them and took a slow sip from Lance’s cup. He didn’t protest.

“Maybe they’ll come up and visit,” she said mildly. “Before...you know.”

Lance and Veronica nodded almost in sync, both without comment. What was there to say? They all knew where her trailed-off sentence led, and nobody wanted to traverse that path.

Curiosity got the better of him, and he did peer down the road. What he caught a glimpse of was _fear._ A particular brand of it. Fear that this stilted form of conversation would follow them all the way to Alexander’s grave, words growing more and more awkward over time until they all silently, unanimously decided it was easier not to speak at all.

Just like before.

_Five of us against the world._

Was it really, though?


	89. but, darling, you are the only exception

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Wh-what – what do you want for y-your birthday, Sir?” 
> 
> Questions. Literally the last goddamn thing Keith wanted in that moment.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *clears throat*
> 
> COCK WARNING. COCK WARNING. COCKS AND SMUT AND BITING AND ALL THAT GOOD SHIT. COCK WARNING.
> 
> …that is all. asexuals and minors have been warned. tldr for plot-important material in the end notes.
> 
> enjoy!

“Wh-what – what do you want for y-your birthday, Sir?”

Questions. Literally the _last_ goddamn thing Keith wanted in that moment. He groaned in an odd mixture of pleasure and frustration. The sound mingled with that of skin sloppily slapping skin as he fucked his sub with near feverish fervor.

“Not the time.” The words were growled from between clenched teeth and punctuated by a sharp spank. This pseudo-punishment did nothing to stem the flow of speech. In fact, it only spurred his mate on. Naturally.

Lance moaned and pressed back against the Dom, as if Keith could possibly drive his cock in any deeper. He wiggled his ass. Elbows shook where they held him up, trembling, threatening to give way. Keith wished they would – _face down, ass up, sweetheart._ He felt an urge to knock them out of place himself and just barely resisted. If not for fear that being suddenly smothered by pillows without a moment to prepare himself would incite Lance’s panic disorder, he might have gone through with it.

“A-always the time.” Lance whimpered and dropped his head low. Keith felt a jolt of ecstasy at the realization that Lance was watching his own untouched erection bob with each thrust as his body was rocked. “Want you to h-have a good birthday, Sir. Want you to like your birthday again.”

Such kind words probably shouldn’t have been a turn-on; they were. A heart-warmer, too, of course, but in that moment? Pretty much everything was a turn-on.

Another swat. A gasp and a whiny keen. Keith couldn’t see his sub’s face, but he liked to imagine Lance had taken a corner of that gorgeous, plump lower lip between his teeth. _Oh, fuck, yes._

“I said _stop talking_. Fuck. Such a disobedient little asshole. You’re lucky you’re so pretty.”

“You _l-love_ my asshole, S-sir.”

God, he wasn’t wrong.

Keith slapped his ass again, three times in rapid succession, quicker and harsher than before. He pulled on the sub’s favorite, full-bodied leather harness, forcing his hunched spine back into proper alignment. “Shut up, brat.”

Lance was determined. “Please tell me what – _ah!_ Yes! - what you w-want, Sir. Please? _P-pretty_ please?”

“Pretty please?” Keith sneered, overtly mocking, and landed two more swats. “You’re a grown-ass man. Talk like one. Even better, don’t talk at all. Be a good little sub – you should take cocks nice and quiet, hm?”

“Wh-what do you want for – _ah!_ Yes, Sir, _yes!_ ”

A series of slaps to a reddened left ass cheek weren’t enough to shut him up – but, apparently, quick thrusts aimed at his prostate and rough, in-sync jerks of his cock were. Keith pulled back Lance’s foreskin and teased the head with a feather-light thumb. More sensitive than Keith’s from hiding beneath its protective layer all day, the slit leaked beads of pre-cum to evidence Lance’s enjoyment.

Keith brought his hand to his mouth to savor the substance’s familiar taste, hips continuing their rhythm with ease all the while. He smacked his lips and hummed in approval to leave no doubt of what he’d done.

“So delicious.” He leaned forward and trailed bites down semi-muscular shoulder blades, chasing the pre-cum with droplets of salty sweat that ran from his sub’s drenched hair. “But you’d probably fuckin’ say _yummy_ , wouldn’t you, brat?”

Lance lost it.

He cried out, legs trembling where the outsides of his thighs met the insides of Keith’s. Elbows finally failed, and he fell into pillows strategically placed in case of such a scenario – for once, something he did without grace. Slim fingers grappled clumsily for purchase in the sheets.

Keith couldn’t help but smirk at his triumph. To unravel Lance into a puddle of pained pleasure was his ultimate goal as the Dom in their bed.

He leaned back up, spine straight, and licked his teeth as he admired the marks they had left. No doubt they’d bruise. And _no_ doubt Lance would have zero complaints.

But fucking _still_ : “What do you want for your birthday, Sir?” No stutters this time.

Keith growled. Not out of anger or frustration, but purely for emotional overwhelm: immense physical pleasure, the warmth of mutual love, bewilderment at his sub’s uncharacteristically persistent disobedience –

“I want you to put on a pretty little show for me. Buy a fuckton of lingerie, dance around with a plug in your ass, then let me fuck you in your favorite little outfit. Fine, you brat, _there._ Th-that’s what I want for my fucking birthday. Now _shut up and come._ ”

Lance obeyed with abundant enthusiasm. The sub’s orgasm was greedy, ripping screams from his throat, tearing through his body with enough force that Keith could have sworn he felt it.

And he did feel it, in a way. His own orgasm hit him like a truck. He released his load into Lance’s hot, pulsating ass, and somehow retained enough of his mind to pull out to the tip and dribble the last of it around the surface of a gaping entrance.

Keith moaned lowly and blinked at a tapered plug resting on the mattress nearby. He remembered his sub’s pre-scene request and fumbled for the toy, then made quick work of lubing it just enough to avoid discomfort. He felt like he could have come again at the sleepy, pleasured whine Lance released when it was shoved inside.

“Gonna keep you in me,” Lance mumbled into the pillows. He craned his neck in what had to be an uncomfortable position. One beautiful ocean eye blinked owlishly at Keith. Subspace’s haze was visible as it turned royal blue into a cloudy sky color. “Gonna sleep with your cum inside. ‘S where it belongs. You own me, Sir.”

Keith, breath harsh and thighs quaking from exertion, laid his sub’s torso flat on the bed with an excessively gentle touch. He leaned over Lance to kiss a flushed, dewy face in every spot he could reach. With lips pulled over his teeth to prevent any sting, he nibbled at the other’s earlobe.

“That’s right, beautiful,” he whispered. Lance smiled and hummed, eyelids fluttering as calloused hands ran up and down his sides. “You’re all mine. All mine, sweetheart. You’re such a good boy. I mean, a brat, too – but _mostly_ a good boy.”

Lance giggled. “Love y’, Keith. Love. _So_ m’ch.”

“I love you, too. Now stop talking and enjoy your subspace.”

“Keep th’ plug in.”

“ _Shh_. I know. Rest.”

“M’kay. Thanks...”

Lance shivered before going still, save for the deep, even rhythm of his breath. Keith sat back on his heels and allowed himself a moment to observe the steady rise and fall. Just to indulge. (Just to make sure.)

“You’re welcome,” he said, though he knew Lance was already too far gone in bliss to hear him. “...and you’d _better_ not fucking forget what I asked for.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [cock-free tldr; lance insists on keith telling him what he wants for his upcoming 19th birthday. keith caves (bc he has a cuddly teddy bear heart and can't tell his bby no) and says he wants lance to buy a bunch of lingerie, dress up in each skimpy lil outfit, and dance around in it. also, they're super sweet and adorable and i love them.]
> 
> ...y'all. i have filled half a composition notebook since this time YESTERDAY. granted, i'm an evil tree-killer who only uses the first side of the page in composition notebooks bc my adhd ass can't focus if i'm seeing shadows/imprints of the words on the other side of the page.
> 
> but like...still. with my average word count per page in composition notebooks, that's...that's 9k words. 
> 
> i have written 11 chapters in the past 24 hours. i think i'm addicted to my own story. is my brain on fire? i'm pretty sure my brain's on fire. plz send help


	90. i've got a tight grip on reality (but i can't let go of what's in front of me here)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance fought a (losing) battle to keep the blush off his face as he turned on the couch and cleared his throat.
> 
> This wasn’t weird. It didn’t have to be weird, right?

Lance fought a (losing) battle to keep the blush off his face as he turned on the couch and cleared his throat.

This wasn’t weird. It didn’t have to be weird, right? Not unless he made it so.

If only the dilated blood vessels in his face spoke English so he could explain that. Alas, he felt them expand and heat.

Kind of like Keith would _expand_ and _heat_ when –

Yep. Weird. Weird territory. _Back it up, Loverboy Lancey-Lance._

“Hey, Adam?” He asked in a whisper. Keith was in the bathroom, which was several rooms away, but they all knew from unfortunate experience how thin the interior walls of the old house were. Damn historic district and it’s damn quaint little porches. “Can I ask you for a favor? You can say no, obviously, but...”

Adam smiled from the armchair. He uncrossed his legs, lowered a notepad of ungraded pop quizzes to his lap, and removed his glasses. Usually, Lance felt warmed that the man made a point of giving both ‘the boys’ his undivided attention when they addressed him. But in that moment, it made it very difficult to keep his wandering toes on the _not weird_ side of the line.

God knew Adam wouldn’t have made such rapt eye contact if he knew the true intentions behind Lance’s request.

“Of course you can,” Adam said, paternal affection clear in his chipper voice and bright eyes. “Anything you need help with, son?”

“It’s – kind of a _big_ favor.”

“I’ll do my best.” The Dom made no attempt to mask his baffled amusement. “But I can’t do anything if you don’t tell me what you need.”

Lance took a deep breath and spoke the words in a rush. “I need a couple hundred dollars to buy Keith’s birthday present.”

Adam blinked. “That’s a _big_ favor? Son, we’re not exactly pressed for money nowadays. Of course I’ll help you buy Keith a present.”

“Oh. Right.” Lance’s ears grew marginally warmer. “Didn’t think about that. Uh – thanks, Adam. Seriously. It means a lot.”

“No need to thank me. What’s the point of a heavy bank account if I can’t spoil my kids?”

“Well, if you _insist_ on spoiling us, Tetra released this awesome new under-eye night cream...”

Adam chuckled.

“I think you’re a little young to worry about under-eye creams, but go ahead and put it on your Christmas list. Old Mr. Claus might feel extra generous this year.” He winked. “Maybe you could put my name on Keith's birthday gift, too. Saves me a shopping trip. I never know what to buy for that boy, anyway.”

In an instant, his relief and gratitude were driven out by mortification. Such must have shown in his expression. Adam frowned and tilted his head.

Lance’s hands flew to his face. He risked a peek between his fingers as the blush warmed his palms.

“Trust me...you don’t want your name on this present.”

“May I ask why not? If it’s something illegal, I’m afraid I might have to rescind my two hundred dollars.”

“It’s nothing illegal! It’s just – Adam. _Trust_ me. You don’t…want…to know.”

Finally, Adam seemed to assemble the pieces. Enough to gather the _g_ _enre_ of the picture, at least. A faint blush of his own began to spread. He grimaced and promptly turned his eyes to the notepad as he lifted it, fumbling to put his glasses back on.

“Uh, yes.” The toilet flushed down the hall and the sink turned on. “Yes, I have to agree. I’ll find him something else.”

“Th-thank you. We – _I_ – appreciate it.”

“Of course, son, of course. You’re welcome. Very welcome. Yes.”

 _Welp._ He yeeted himself right into weird territory, didn’t he? Over the commoners’ neighborhoods and into the royal bedroom of Weird Castle.

Honestly, though – when Lance imagined the possibilities of Keith's expression at seeing his birthday wish _literally_ came true?

Worth it.


	91. i know you're leaving in the morning when you wake up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the life of him, Lance couldn’t begin to grasp why Pidge had dreaded her sweet sixteen celebration. Her party was, for lack of a better adjective, absolutely bitching.

For the life of him, Lance couldn’t begin to grasp why Pidge had dreaded her sweet sixteen celebration. Her party was, for lack of a better adjective, absolutely _bitching._

Colleen Holt must have been swimming in cash because of her lifemate just like Adam, Lance realized as he took in the decked-out venue, mouth agape. He’d expected a cute little party with some sort of sweet sixteen candy theme. Maybe a DJ, some banners and balloons, an icing-heavy cake to suit Pidge’s adolescent tastes.

Not a softcore _rave._

God. And he thought Shiro was a cool parent. His friend’s mother blew all other so-dubbed cool parents out of the water. _Sorry, Shiro and future-me, but this is pretty damn awesome._

Even Keith seemed a bit stunned when they first walked in. And that really spoke volumes. Keith usually only stared in wide-eyed awe at an ass-naked Lance.

Not that Lance was envious of a party for stealing his Dom’s wonder, because that would be weird (...but he was, just a teensy bit, maybe. He deserved a stare, too – his hair looked _really_ nice!)

Keith did compliment his hair once he shook off the shock, and even leveled it up with a kiss to his sub’s cheek and some intertwined fingers. Lance allowed himself to be begrudgingly appeased. He could – and would – earn that wondrous gaze tenfold in a few days when Keith’s own birthday rolled around.

Pidge found them after a few moments, wading through a modest crowd to their table near the edge of the color-shifting dance floor. To his surprise, she wore a small, genuine smile.

“Oh, golly gee, boys, thanks for coming to my party!” Pidge spoke with joking pep. She gave a bouncy curtsy, swaying the floofy end of a dress short enough that, were they still minors, Adam would have denied either of his children permission to wear it publicly in a heartbeat. “My sweet sixteen’s gonna be, like, _so_ super sweet and swell!”

Keith smirked. “How many times did you practice that in the mirror this morning?”

Her reply was a wordless middle finger. The older Dom only laughed. He jerked a nod toward Lance, who took the cue to throw a small, wrapped rectangle their friend’s way.

“I don’t actually know what it is, but I take credit for tying a pretty bow,” Lance said. “I also apologize for the excessive tape. Keith doesn’t know how to wrap gifts. I tried to teach him last Christmas, but it’s pretty much a lost cause.”

Keith shot him a mild glare, to which Lance shrugged. Pidge rolled her eyes.

“Behave, loverboy,” she teased. “Wouldn’t want you to get spanked in the bathroom on lil’ ol’ me’s birthday.”

Naturally, Lance blushed, and Keith lifted his chin in pride – but he was distracted from the embarrassment when, rather than adding their gift to the compilation of others on a designated table, Pidge tore into it on the spot. Her fingers stumbled over and caught on layers of packing tape while she breathed soft huffs of exasperation. _Packing_ tape, not regular desk tape. At least Lance was correct about Keith’s abysmal wrapping skills.

He only caught a brief glimpse of their gift before Pidge hid the book’s cover against her dress, and stared at Keith with wide eyes. One word could be made out on the spine – _Aces_. Lance wouldn’t have pegged her as the card-playing type. Couldn’t say he was surprised, though. Poker seemed to suit her. Seeing a physical copy of a book was more surprising than anything.

“Thank you,” Pidge said, and Lance was taken aback by her sincerity. “I’m...Keith, thank you. For everything. You’re a really fucking cool dude.”

Keith’s smirk softened into an easy smile.

“I know.” He shrugged. “Don’t mention it. Least I could do. Happy birthday, Pidge.”

When she walked off with oddly misty eyes to greet other guests, paperback tucked secretively beneath her arm, Lance turned the confusion on his Dom.

Keith caught the unspoken prying. He shook his head firmly, lips pursed. “Her business. Not mine to tell.”

“Okay, when you said that about the romance advice, I understood. But _card games?_ Really?”

Keith stared, blank. Blinked a couple times.

“Yes,” he said flatly. “It’s very personal to her. The card games.”

“...our friends are _weird_.”

The Dom’s shoulders deflated. He exhaled a laugh. “You chose them, sweetheart. Me getting along with those two is just a lucky coincidence.”

“You’d get along with _anyone_ if I called them my friend.” Lance thought of Nevaeh and prayed that statement was correct. “Wittle Keef’s got a big, mushy heart. Teddy bear.”

He prodded his mate’s side with a grin.

“Hey! I thought Pidge told you _not_ to get spanked in the bathroom on her birthday.”

“Then don’t spank me.”

“If you keep up that attitude, I won’t have much of a choice, will I?”

“Guess you’ll have to save my punishment for home, _Sir_.”

Keith’s eyes darkened in the most splendid way.

Who said Lance was trying to wind his Dom up, charge his sexual battery, before October twenty-third arrived? He certainly wasn’t. Not at all.

(...but he was. Just a teensy bit. Maybe.)


	92. leave me with some kind of proof it's not a dream

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "May I have this dance?"

"May I have this dance?"

How was it actually fucking possible for Keith to sweat more asking to dance with his sub than when he asked him to _be_ his sub? It didn't seem fair. He kept his arm extended like an offer, and gulped when all he got was a few seconds of blank staring.

Finally, a smile spread over Lance's face. He took Keith's elbow and slowly rose from his seat. Keith released a breath he hadn't realized he was holding. 

"You absolutely may," Lance said softly, eyes bright. "What a _gentleman_. Aw, babe! You're blushing!"

"I am not!" He most certainly was. "God, you're such a brat. Just shut up and dance with me."

The sub's teeth sparkled. "Don't have to ask me twice."

Keith couldn't dance to fast songs, but it was at least a step up from slow ballads. He sure as _fuck_ couldn't ballroom dance.

Just his luck. The night was winding down - and wouldn't you know it? The music wound down, too. Attendees who lacked partners to hold close and sway with looked disappointed as they shuffled off the dance floor. Keith pushed down a bout of panic.

Fuck. He'd jinxed it. God fucking damn it.

Lance seemed amused. He quirked an eyebrow. "Having second thoughts, Mister Two Left Feet?"

Amused, yeah - but a hint of disappointment shone through. His sub _wanted_ to slow dance. Probably had his heart set on it the second they walked in and saw the dance floor. And, well. Wasn't it Keith's job to make his sub happy? 

He swallowed thickly. "I'll bite you."

"Is that a threat or a promise?"

"Both." _Whatever you want it to be._ "Shut up. Tell me what to do."

"I can't shut up _and_ tell you what to-"

"Lance. Please."

Lance huffed. He stopped on the outskirts of the glowing tiles as their colors shifted from neon teal to a pale purple. Why the fuck Pidge wanted romantic colors and slow dances to close out her birthday party was beyond him. Probably so she could have an excuse to sit and put her feet up. At _his_ expense. How selfish. He wanted her new book back, the traitor. 

Keith took a deep breath as Lance ran soothing hands up and down his biceps and fixed him with a _look._

"Keith. _Relax_. It's a teenager's birthday party. You're not pole dancing for cash."

"Thank fuck. We'd be broke."

Lance laughed and kissed his cheek. Keith rested light hands upon his sub's hips. Seemed like a good starting point.

"We're already broke," Lance said. "Your parents pay for everything - we're leeches. My point is, nobody's watching or judging you. This is just for fun, okay? Just to be together."

The _for fun_ part, Keith had to mentally decline. But being together?

Lance leaned in a little. He wrapped arms around his Dom's shoulders and began to sway them both. Gentle, side to side motions, feet planted in place. Nothing fancy. Keith inhaled a familiar sea-salt scent and allowed himself to relax. Tension drained from his mind and body in unison. He took the initiative to pull his mate closer, and felt Lance smile against his shoulder in response. 

Being together.

Yeah. He could get behind that.

"Hey, you're starting to get the hang of it," Lance whispered and nuzzled into his neck. "You're doing good."

Keith nodded. "I am."

He was starting to get a lot of things.


	93. oh, and i'm on my way to believing

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Presenting: your birthday gift. Starring: Lance, the insufferable brat."
> 
> Holy fuck.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the anticipated birthday/anniversary chapter!
> 
> so you've probably already guessed it, but, you know. this is just smut. virtually no plot in this chapter. literally just pure filth
> 
> this is the last chapter of act 6! act 7 is coming tomorrow!
> 
> i'd also like to point out that...hlp had 93 chapters. when I post 94 tomorrow, r:bomb will officially have more chapters than hlp (though not as high a word count yet.) ahdjmdkxjjdjs i'm sorry that's just i n s a n e to me

"Presenting: your birthday gift. Starring: Lance, the insufferable brat."

Holy fuck.

Holy _fuck_. He actually fucking - 

"Holy fuck."

Lance shot him a knowing smirk. The sub gave his hips a few lazy swings as he approached the bed with unnecessarily slow steps. The red G-string he wore was clearly intended for use by people with dicks; an already hard cock strained against the lacy pouch, and a little black bow sat on top.

Happy fucking birthday to him.

Lance stopped at the foot of the bed and knelt on the edge of the mattress, knees spread with intention. There was even a new harness to match. Red lace criss-crossed his chest in an intricate pattern. Keith's second thought was a bemused, _how long did it take you to get that on the right way?_

The first thought being, _I'm gonna tear that shit off you with my fucking teeth._

Third thought: _holy fuck._

Of course, said 'harness' was all for show. The delicate fabric would surely snap the first time Keith tried to pull on it.

Somehow, that only made it better. A delicious treat displayed before him, but he could never have it, not really. A tease. Holy fuck, holy fuck, holy _fuck._

"Pretty," Keith said. "Can I fuck you now?"

He crawled down the bed to meet his sub. Lance immediately scrambled back to his feet, and Keith stopped dead in his tracks.

"Not yet!" Lance pouted down at him. "I thought you wanted a show."

"Fuck, yeah, I do."

Keith grinned and sat back, waiting eagerly. Lance suddenly looked nervous. His hands fidgeted at his sides.

"Do you - maybe want to _direct_ the show?"

Keith groaned. " _Fuck,_ yeah, I do. Touch yourself."

Lance drifted feather-light hands over his own chest and snapped the elastic lace against his skin. He blinked innocently. "Touch myself where, Sir?"

"You _know_ where, you brat. Touch your cock."

"May I take it out, Sir?"

Keith paused. He stared at the straining bulge for a moment and considered.

"Hmm...no. No, you may not. Only through the fabric. Go ahead, sweetheart. Tease yourself."

Lance bit down on his lip and whimpered in what sounded like disappointment, but obeyed nonetheless. A palm rolled slowly against the bulge. He moaned - more of a high-pitched keening, really.

" _Ohh_ , yes, Sir. That feels good. _Mm_. F-feels good."

"Yeah, I bet it does. Looks fucking gorgeous, sweetheart. Keep going."

The sub brought his free hand up to roll one nipple between his fingers. Keith hadn't ordered him to do so, but like hell was he going to discourage it. 

Lance dropped his head back, exposing the soft, markable flesh of his throat, and released a series of breathy little moans. All part of the show, of course. Still, Keith was impressed by how convincing his mate's words and sounds were. He would be lying if he said his own pants hadn't grown uncomfortably tight. 

Said pants were shucked off in a hurry the instant Lance began to roll talented hips against his own hand. 

"Sir!" Lance gasped when he caught sight of Keith pulling his own cock out of his boxers and stroking it with fervor. It sounded a hell of a lot more real that time. "Gonna come watching me, Sir?"

"Fuck, no." Keith groaned. "Gonna fill that pretty little ass after you get yourself all worked up."

" _Mm_. Can I take it out now, Sir?"

"No. You absolutely may not."

"Can _you_ take my cock out, Sir?"

Keith scoffed. "Um, I thinketh the fucketh not."

"But - _Sir_. It's our anniversary!"

"It's also my birthday. I'm not putting in any work, pretty boy. I'm just watching the show."

Lance didn't accept his fate lying down nor settle in for the long haul - but then, Keith hadn't expected him to. The sub's impatience spiked.

"God!" He moaned. "Sir, _please_ , take me. Just take me."

"No."

"How l-long?"

"That depends. How many more outfits did you buy?"

Lance paused, hand frozen where he cupped himself. He stared, eyes wide and mouth open. "You're not seriously gonna make me-"

"Tease yourself in every little outfit until you're a whiny, begging mess?" Keith smirked and shrugged, hand still moving over his own cock. "You promised me entertainment. I'm pretty entertained. This outfit is getting old, though. Thank you, next."

"But-"

"Thank you. _Next._ "

Lance gave him a halfhearted glare and sulked off to the bathroom to present his next piece. Keith watched his ass swing as he walked.

One year, a bonded claim. The next, a private lingerie show.

If Lance's goal was to make Keith enjoy his birthday again, call it a goddamn success. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> now...i DID warn y'all that this was the lact act of supreme fluff. act 7 starts tomorrow to lightly ease you into the angst, my friends. all downhill from here
> 
> :)


	94. [VII] i won't run; i will stay

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Urgent midnight calls are never good.

**ACT SEVEN: NO MAN IS AN ISLAND**

**(chapters 94-113)**

 

* * *

 

["No Man Is An Island" - Tenth Avenue North](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-RV2w7xBaMY)

 

* * *

  

"At sixteen, the adolescent knows about suffering because he himself has suffered, but he barely knows that other beings also suffer." - Jean-Jacques Rousseau

"We're all so desperate to be understood, we forget to be understanding." - Beau Taplin

 

* * *

 

 

Urgent midnight calls are never good.

Honestly, Lance was beginning to think that must have been the primary take-home lesson of the semester. What else could he have inferred? It was becoming a common enough occurrence.

He didn’t have to answer his phone to know it was one of those dreaded calls. A hand reached over his Dom to fumble for the device; he squinted at the blare of light, and Rachel’s joking contact name of _your favorite sister_ – she’d changed it herself, and he couldn’t find the heart to switch it back – told him everything he needed to know.

Alexander. Sperm Donor. Papi. Whatever band wagon they were on that week. Had to be news about him. Lance couldn’t think of any other reason Rachel would call him at three thirty-seven in the morning on a weekday. Either their father’s condition had finally taken a turn for the worse, or she’d landed herself in some precarious situation or another involving drugs and/or alcohol and needed help.

He greatly preferred the former.

Was that cruel? That was probably cruel.

Whatever. He was sleep deprived. Sue him.

His thumb tapped a few times before hitting its target. He held the phone somewhere in the general vicinity of his ear, closed his eyes, and croaked a bleary, “’llo?”

Rachel didn’t reply. At least, not with words. Instead, there were sniffles and shuddered gasps.

She was crying.

No, not crying. _Sobbing._

Blankets of sleepiness fell away just like the actual blanket did as he shot upright. Lance hit his head against the bedpost on the way up and barely winced.

“Rachel?” He asked, loud, alarmed. Keith stirred and sighed beside him but didn’t wake. “ _Hey,_ hey. _Hermana,_ come on. Talk to me. What’s going on, love?”

“Lance.” She inhaled sharply. There was an audible struggle in her breath as she fought to regain control of herself. “Lance, I’m sorry. I know you have class in the morning; I shouldn’t have called. J-just that I need to talk it out, but everyone here’s just as upset, and you’re such a great l-listener, so-”

“ _Shh._ It’s alright, _hermana,_ it’s fine. That’s okay.” Lance swung his feet over the side of the bed. The mattress dipped and creaked as he stood. He paced, and a thumbnail flew to his mouth on instinct. Keith mumbled and rolled over, arm splayed as if to leech warmth from the spot Lance had vacated.

“I’m s-sorry. Do you want me to hang up? I’ll hang up. You should get back to sleep.”

“No!” Keith’s eyelids fluttered at the shout. Lance tensed and lowered his voice to a strained whisper. “ _No._ Don’t hang up. You called me in tears, Rach. I won’t go back to sleep, anyway, after that.”

“Sorry.”

“Don’t apologize. Please, just tell me what’s wrong. I want to help. What’s got _mi hermana_ all upset? Need us to rough someone up for you? Keith’s got a knife collection.”

A watery laugh on the other end of the line. Lance smiled bitterly into the darkness. Small victories.

“’Course he does.” Rachel sniffed. “Won’t need it, though. Nobody did anything. Not intentionally.”

Lance gave her a moment to explain. It was used as a moment of wrought silence instead. “What do you mean, Rach?”

“It’s... _Lance._ I-it’s Papi.”

Lance closed his eyes tight. Clenched his teeth. Swallowed.

Of _course_ it was Alexander. Of course.

“What about him, Rach? Details.” He worked to keep his voice low and soothing. No need to misplace his anger onto her.

“He – he’s in the hospital. And...”

“And?”

“...and he’s not coming home again.”


	95. i'm not leaving you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Rach called." His voice, too. Shadowed. Dull. Dry. "Alexander's in the hospital. Permanently. 'End of life care.' He's never going home again."

_Something's wrong._

Keith knew it the nanosecond he woke. No alarm blared; the dorm was dark. He was still sleepy, eyes itching and leaden. What had woken him?

The answer presented itself when he reached for Lance in the darkness - and found his sub's side of the bed cold and empty, sheets crumpled, blanket halfway on the floor.

Not to say Lance wasn't _in_ bed. Only that he wasn't lying next to his Dom as he should have been. Keith saw Lance's form outlined at the foot of the mattress, hunched over with head in hands and fingers tugging at his hair. 

He was torn between two automatic responses: to scold, or to comfort. On one hand, Lance had broken a rule, getting out of bed without Keith's permission for a reason other than to pee or vomit. On the weightier, more urgent hand - God, why'd he look so _sad?_

Keith made an executive decision. Just this once, he'd let the disobedience slide. Clearly Lance was in some kind of emotional flux. No need to trigger his sub guilt and heap something else onto a full plate.

"Sweetheart?" Keith slowly sat up and cleared the grogginess from his throat. "You okay? Come back to bed, please. Come talk to me."

Lance lifted his head and shook it once. Keith reached to turn the bedside lamp on and was relieved to discover his mate's eyes, though shadowed and dull, were perfectly dry.

"Rach called." His voice, too. Shadowed. Dull. _Dry._ "Alexander's in the hospital. Permanently. 'End of life care.' He's never going home again."

The wind was knocked from Keith's lungs as if by physical impact. "Wha - wait. Wait. I don't understand. He was fine a day ago. That's so... _sudden._ What happened?"

"Bad migraine. Vee called an ambulance." Lance took a deep, shuddering breath. "They ran a bunch of tests. His tumor's had a rapid burst of growth over the past few weeks. Prognosis is definitely less than five months now."

Keith swallowed. His mouth felt like cotton and his heart pounded. What was he supposed to say? Did Lance need to be held, to be encouraged, to be left alone? He really sucked at this shit. Fuck.

He settled on a soft, "How long?"

Lance shrugged. "Six to ten weeks. Probably closer to six."

"And he's...gonna spend it all in the hospital."

"Every last second."

"Oh. Oh, that's...wow."

"Yeah. Wow."

Keith was struck five seconds too late by the insensitivity of that. He winced, threw the covers off himself although the cold air made him shiver, and scooted down the bed to perch beside his sub. 

"That sucks," Keith whispered. He joined Lance in staring blankly at a hardwood floor they could hardly see in the dark. "I'm sorry, sweetheart. Do you want to talk about it?"

Lance said, unrelated to the other's prompt; "I'm not sad."

"What?"

"That's what you're worried about, right? That I'm sad." He finally met Keith's eyes. "You don't have to worry. I don't feel sad. Or disappointed, or anything like that."

"Well, what _are_ you feeling?"

Lance pursed his lips in thought. "...conflicted. Indecisive. Is it horrible that I still don't know if I want to see him again? Does that, like, make me a bad person?"

" _No._ Abso-fucking-lutely not. He's treated you like shit almost your entire life."

"So I _shouldn't_ see him?"

"If you want to, you should, and you're strong and brave for being willing to do that. If you don't want to, don't. You're more than justified - and you're still strong and brave. For choosing what's best for you, even if other people don't understand it."

"They don't understand." Lance leaned his head on Keith's shoulder and heaved a sigh. "Mama. _Mi hermanas._ They really don't."

"They don't have to. Their opinions don't factor in here."

"I guess you're right."

"I'm always right."

Lance snorted. Keith felt the sub's lips twitch against his bare shoulder with the beginnings of a strained smile. "Yeah, okay. You keep telling yourself that."

Keith grabbed his own graviphone from the nightstand. Hellfire light burned their corneas before he fumbled to lower the brightness. "Hang on. Hang on..."

Lance frowned. "Who are you texting?"

"Adam." Keith paused. "I mean - you still want to see your mom and the girls, right?"

"Of course."

"Then I have an idea."

> _**You:** Yo. You awake? You get up early for work and shit, right?_
> 
> _Read by Dadam at 4:29 A.M._
> 
> _**You:** YO. ARE YOU AWAKE. YOU GET UP EARLY FOR WORK AND SHIT R I G H T._
> 
> _**Dadam:** Good morning, son. How are you? I'm well. Thank you for asking._
> 
> _**You:** Do you know how to make casseroles?_
> 
> _**Dadam:** ..._
> 
> _**Dadam:** What?_


	96. i know there's friction here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Something was -
> 
> Oh, fuck it. Something was always wrong.

Something was -

Oh, fuck it. Something was _always_ wrong. Literally all the time. An inherited assumption to every situation in their lives at this point, _'something was wrong.'_

He and Lance stood on the porch, wielding grocery bags of what Adam insisted were casserole supplies, and stared blankly. Opened their mouths, then shut them. Blinked a few times.

Keith couldn't recall a day he'd ever seen Adam Wyler unshaven. What a fucking bizarre sight.

Facial hair wasn't all that bewildered them, though. It was also bloodshot eyes, wrinkled clothes, and an uncombed head. In Keith's opinion, the worst part was his adoptive father's _smile._ Adam's normal, everyday smile, the only difference an addition of scruff around it. Like the picture was normal and fine and acceptable. Like he was a sight to smile about.

"Hey, boys," Adam said, warm as ever. "You can put those bags on the counter. Oven's already pre-heated. Lance, does your mother like tuna?"

Lance stuttered. "I - I really...don't know."

"Well, I guess we'll find out, won't we? Come on in and lets get started. It's already sunset. I don't want you to get back too late."

 _This_ man, veins popping out from the white in his eyes, was worried about _them_ getting enough sleep?

What the...fucking... _fuck?_

Adam turned on his heel and left the door wide open, clearly expecting them to follow like usual. Keith exchanged a _Look_ with his sub before they both took hesitant steps inside.

 _This is weird,_ Lance mouthed as he closed the door with his foot. The scent of patchouli hit them. Keith nodded.

Yeah. 'Weird' just about fucking covered it.

Something was...weird.


	97. the struggle makes us new

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance would never understand – but he was beginning to understand that he didn’t have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> FJDSFKJFGDSJKFNFD (fair warning: unnecessarily long, ADHD-induced author's note ahead)
> 
> I'M?? SO?? SORRY??? for the lateness???
> 
> y'all i SWEAR i haven't lost interest in this story. the sporadic updating lately has actually caused me to accidentally get like 20 chapters ahead in writing, because the writing hasn't slowed down at all but the updating has. the reason I've been so lazy about doing it is bc, as y'all know, i write my first drafts on paper first (to minimize the urge to go back and edit things as i write...you can't edit ink on a full page, you have no choice but to just slap a post-it note on the page about what you wanna change later and keep going.)
> 
> well, actually typing up 3 chapters and editing them and drafting them to be posted the next day can take up to 90 minutes. which is not usually something i have a problem with doing, since i can listen to political podcasts or my favorite music or watch youtube psychology lectures while i do it. problem is I've been so busy lately i haven't had TIME to do it. they're moving me into a different classroom the next school year at work, since they're turning one of the 2's classrooms - the older 2's room, the one that's currently mine - into a younger 3's room in the 2019-2020 school year. so they're moving me into the younger 2's room, since i told them that i have a preference for younger 2's and would like the smaller classroom anyway. 
> 
> all of that adds up to me putting a lot of time and thought and research and planning into how to properly organize a classroom for younger 2's. add that to the fact that this current lesson plan unit in the curriculum, a two week one spanning last week and this upcoming week, is a very intensive unit and requires a lot of time and planning, AND the fact that i'm still feeling more tired than usual as my body recovers from being sick so often recently...
> 
> ...Y'ALL. your bitch is exhausted. 
> 
> I'M HERE THOUGH. I'M NOT LEAVING THE STORY HANGING, EVER. you're getting another chapter later today, 3 tomorrow, and hopefully at least 2 each weekday during this upcoming week if i can take the weekend to type them up and edit them! this is also why I've been K.O. ded on tumblr lately, but i'm planning on logging in and queuing up a bunch of shit at some point today or tomorrow, so there's that.
> 
> thank you so much for your patience and understanding as i do boring Adulting Stuff™, and please enjoy today's chapters! leave a comment to let me know what you think of how lance is feeling/what he's going through mentally in this chapter and the next! 
> 
> like...he's legit bringing them tuna casserole and shit while he's going through a mental storm about his dad. what a good kind boi

Lance thought he was prepared for their tears.

He was – can you guess? Yes, that’s right – _wrong._

Tears, he could have handled. Overcast clouds of utter despair and gloom, hanging ominous and heavy over the McClain estate, suffocating everyone inside – that was a lot different. A lot more intense than some wet eyes and runny noses.

The worst part? How out of place that metaphorical storm made him feel.

Lance genuinely sympathized...but he couldn’t integrate. He didn’t know _how_ to assimilate into the mourner’s role, even if he wanted to (he definitely didn’t).

What could he say? ‘Sorry for your loss’? Alexander wasn’t dead yet. And, besides: it was meant to be his loss, too. They expected it to be.

‘Everything will be alright.’ A lie. It wouldn’t be alright. For _him_ , yeah, it would. Lance was going to be okay – they weren’t. Not for a long time.

‘I’m here for you.’ But he felt so much like Veronica all of a sudden, uncertain he’d be able to stay true. Unable to promise he wouldn’t flee in the coming weeks because, honestly, he might. If things got much heavier once _The Day_ came, if their grief became an ocean he could drown in...he might very well cower and run.

Lance settled on saying nothing. He doubted his mother and sisters were up for much conversation, either. Minus the crying, he would fit right in.

Rachel opened the door. She looked exactly like he’d expected. Frizzed hair thrown messily atop her head, red eyes and nose, blotchy face.

Lance didn’t have to initiate the hug. Also not a surprise. His sister threw trembling arms around him and squeezed. God, when did she get so strong?

“Lance,” she whispered into his shirt. Nothing else. Just... _Lance_.

The situation had just become real for her, he knew. Less a fever dream, more a waking nightmare. That had to suck.

Words. Words. What were words again? Remind him, someone, please. How did he make his mouth do that...word-y thing?

Lance squeezed back. “I...I know, Rach. I know.”

Honestly?

He didn’t know.

He didn’t know at all. Couldn’t grasp the slightest clue or inkling of an explanation. Lance would never understand how they mourned for Alexander. How they regarded him as worthy of mourning.

But maybe that was alright.

They didn’t have to ‘get’ the emotions and thought trains behind his decisions in order for said decisions to be valid. Maybe the same held true for his family’s season of overcast. It was alright if he didn’t get it. Their grief was not his to get.

Lance would never understand – but he was beginning to understand that he didn’t have to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh, and just to clarify from the last chapter: shiro and the kerberos mission are fine. adam would have told them right away if something had happened to shiro. but obviously adam is...distressed...and trying to mask it...what could it possibly be about? hMmMmMm...


	98. i see fear in your eyes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe it was just easier to be angry at them. Somewhere to release his frustration. An outlet. 
> 
> ...yeah. He was definitely a dick.

“Do you want to talk? You know. About what happened the other night?” Lance asked, then tacked on as an afterthought when Rachel’s chin wobbled precariously: “It’s okay if you don’t! That’s fine. That’s alright. No pressure.”

Rachel glanced at Veronica, seated beside her. Veronica caught the gaze for a split second, then dropped it like it burned. Both girls sunk into the cushions and stared at their laps.

Well. Now what?

After one long, tense moment, Veronica cleared her throat. “I can tell them. I heard more of it.”

“You don’t have to.” Rachel shook her head. “He said it’s fine.”

A thumbnail wedged subconsciously in Veronica’s bite. She mumbled around it.

“He deserves to know. It’s his Papi, too.” _No,_ Lance thought. _Your Papi. My Sperm Donor._ “Do you, like...want to hear it?”

To lie and decline would have been the selfless choice, but Lance was in a greedy mood.

“Yes.” He leaned into Keith’s side. Keith took his hand. “If you don’t mind.”

Veronica nodded slowly. Her thousand-yard stare locked onto the coffee table.

“They were fighting about something, Mami and Papi,” she said. “Not sure exactly what, but I, uh, heard them mention coffins. Papi got really pissed out of nowhere and just...started screaming.”

Pause. She took a few deep breaths to collect herself. Lance grit his teeth. “It’s fine. Take your time.”

She did. When she continued, her voice was significantly softer.

“It went quiet for a little while, and I just thought they’d made up, or worked it out or whatever.” _Now, when in satan’s fresh hell have they ever ‘worked it out’?_ “Then Mama started shouting to us for help. I was still awake, so I came downstairs. Papi...had a migraine? That’s what he said. He couldn’t really stand on his own, and while I was calling the ambulance, he started puking. I woke Rach up and Mama called the two of us a driver, then she rode with Papi to the hospital. And...you know the rest.”

Hospital. Tests. Sad, awful, horrible news. Boo-hoo.

Lance nodded. “I know the rest.”

Rachel shifted. “It just happened so fast. He was walking around here yesterday like nothing was wrong. He was _fine._ And now – this.”

God, he hoped their waterworks wouldn’t start anew. He couldn’t take much more crying. It seemed to grow in likelihood the longer they talked.

He couldn’t exactly change the subject or suggest they all think about something more positive. Their father was about to die. That harsh reality had to take precedence.

Didn’t mean he had to like it, though. He itched in his skin and was possessed by an overwhelming need to _get out._

So Lance pulled a Veronica: he spotted an escape hatch in the repeated mentions of Mama, and weaseled his cowardly way through as if his life depended on it. He made for the hills. Ran away.

A Veronica move, through and through. Maybe they shared more genes than he thought.

“I should go check on Mama.” Lance turned to Keith and spoke pointedly for an audience of one. “See how she’s holding up. She probably shouldn’t be alone right now. You good here?”

Keith showed a flicker of apprehension, then smoothed it away and nodded. “Yeah. Go ahead.”

Veronica and Rachel, bless their hearts, echoed Keith’s agreement. As if Lance was interested in their opinions.

_God._ Was he a dick for feeling so irritable? None of this blame rested on his sisters’ shoulders. They weren’t at the helm of this disastrous vessel.

Maybe it was just easier to be angry at them. Somewhere to release his frustration. An outlet.

...yeah. He was definitely a dick.

Whatever.

Escape hatch. Squirm his way out. Marginally fresher air.

He was only human.


	99. there's no safety here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance heard it, of course. God, time and time again, he heard it. Hundreds of nights accumulated over the years. Long, woeful hours spent with a pillow pressed over his head, eyes squeezed tight, blocking out the sound of his mother weeping.
> 
> To see it was another beast entirely.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *roller blades in four hours late with starbucks*
> 
> sup homos

He never wanted to see this.

Lance heard it, of course. God, time and time again, he heard it. Hundreds of nights accumulated over the years. Long, woeful hours spent with a pillow pressed over his head, eyes squeezed tight, blocking out the sound of his mother weeping.

To see it was another beast entirely. He couldn't roll out of bed tomorrow morning and pretend it was just a recurring nightmare. 

Now it was real. 

"Mama?" Lance whispered as he inched into the kitchen, heart pounding in his throat. "Are...are you okay?"

Mama. _Mama._ Always looking out for him; always trying to shelter him from her storms. She turned, face wet, eyed red, and nodded. 

"Yes," she said. "I'm alright, _mijo_. I'll be out in a minute."

Pardon his French - but _fuck_ that shit.

Lance couldn't do anything to help her when he was five, nor nine, or even fourteen. He was just as scared as Mama back then. He was only a kid.

But he wasn't that helpless child anymore. In her own words: he was all grown up now.

Like hell was he going to stand by and watch the woman who gave him _life_ fall apart. Not when there was something he could do about it.

Not when what she needed was as simple as -

" _Mama._ Mama, come here. _Shh._ Come here. It's okay."

Lance opened his arms, and she all but fell into them, as if she'd only been waiting for an invitation all these years. An invitation it likely never even crossed Alexander's mind to extend. 

Salt water soaked through his shirt within seconds. He paid it no mind, considering the fabric that clung to his skin a small price. Lance thought of all the times she'd held him close, bandaged skinned knees and kissed door-caught fingers, soothed his tears into hiccups until he could laugh again.

Let Mama ruin his shirt. 

Lord knew he was only returning the favor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...i'm not crying you're crying what


	100. oh, my friend, let me in

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> God, he hoped this all turned out to be some sort of Nyquil-induced fever dream.

Why was it that the safe havens Lance used as escapes were always poisoned by reality?

He wished the cosmos would stop teasing him. Wished the stars would stop laughing. It wasn't funny anymore. _Stop. Seriously. Please, just stop._

They didn't. He didn't expect them to.

Hunk inched closer to whisper, "She's been like that for twenty minutes."

Lance stared with raised eyebrows and a closed mouth. The messenger bag slipped numbly from his shoulder. At his side, Keith didn't fare much better.

Pidge. Pidge Holt. Queen of sarcasm. Empress of death glares. Destroyer of universes. Master of poker, apparently.

Crying.

Weeping with abandon in her mother's arms, no less.

What was the world coming to?

"The fuck _happened?"_ Keith murmured, just loud enough for his sub and Hunk to hear. He, too, seemed incapable of tearing his gaze away.

Hunk shrugged awkwardly. "We were translating a message from Sam. He said a bunch of sweet stuff, and she just - _lost_ it. It's not like there was anything negative in the message, but...I don't know, man. She's never done this before."

Lance shuffled his feet, shifted his weight, tapped fingers against his thigh, and managed to avert his eyes. What were they supposed to _do?_

Colleen seemed to have it all under control. Well - not 'under control,' exactly. More accurate to say the situation was supervised and in capable hands. But it felt so intrusive for the three of them to just stand there in the entryway, watching. Would it be insensitive to stick around until Pidge was ready to commence movie night? Inconsiderate to see themselves out, no platitudes or goodbyes?

Did she even know they were there? The girl was in a world of her own. Knowing Pidge, she'd likely be mortified to discover her friends had born witness to the whole scene.

Keith must have had the same thought. He broke from his stupor and turned to them, movements stiff and jerky. 

"We should go into the kitchen." The Dom cleared his throat. "Give them some privacy."

Hunk gave him a resolute nod. "Good idea."

Lance followed wordlessly. It didn't seem like such a good idea to him. He wanted to _help._

But he couldn't, could he?

God, he hoped this all turned out to be some sort of Nyquil-induced fever dream.

(He knew it wasn't. It never was.)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yet another side character going through some sort of rough spot? in coincidentally the exact same timing as multiple other characters, as if this entire struggle was, say, orchestrated by some maniacal creator?
> 
> *sips latte*
> 
> how unfortunate.


	101. i will share your tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sure, Pidge bounced back quick. Some people did. Made sense she'd be one of them. 
> 
> But he knew all too painfully, devastatingly well that not everyone was always as peachy and dandy as they made themselves out to be.

Pidge hiccupped and scrubbed leaking nostrils with the edge of her sleeve. Out of Lance's peripheral, Keith grimaced with a wrinkled nose, but blessedly made no comment. Lance breathed a small sigh of relief. The last thing they needed was for a fight to break out; in her current state, there was no doubt Pidge would snap at the slightest provocation. 

"I'm sorry we had to see that," Keith said quietly, which was...unexpected. For once, his singular molecule of social awareness seemed to have kicked in.

At least Lance could thank the universe for bite-sized miracles.

"It's fine," Pidge said shortly, and cleared her throat. "Not like you meant to walk in right when I had a mental breakdown."

"Not like you meant to get upset," Hunk countered, laying a friendly hand on her shoulder. "It happens sometimes, to _everyone_. Even badass gremlins like you. So don't worry about it, alright?"

Pidge glanced hesitantly at Lance and Keith, seated hip to hip on the loveseat. Lance offered her an encouraging nod and a bittersweet sort of smile.

Finally, Pidge seemed to regain some of her spark. He'd assumed she wouldn't wallow in her own emotions for long - she wasn't the type - but to see the corners of her lips twitching into a familiar, self-satisfied smirk was a relief nonetheless. 

She lifted her chin and puffed out her chest. "I expect all of you to change my contact in your phones to _badass gremlin_ before the day's end. I'm a hacker; don't think I won't check."

Keith blinked. "How often do you hack our phones?"

Pidge looked him dead-on, eyes gleaming and maniacal. At her words, Lance choked on air and began to cough. 

"You look cute in braids."

The look on Keith's face - _God._ Lance wished he would have had time to snap a still of that priceless split second. The picture would go great next to the one of a sleeping Keith bearing four miniature braids in a laptop folder entitled _teddy bear keef <3._

Maybe later, back at the dorm, Lance would confess that he'd not only taken said picture but also sent it to A.S.S. and Pidge (it was unlikely she'd ever actually found it a worthwhile use of time to hack their boring selves).

Not now, though. His Dom's shock was too spectacular. And, besides - if he withheld the information for longer than necessary, perhaps a couple more swats would be added to his punishment. 

Lance gulped and pushed down a buzz of excitement. _Yeah. I'll tell him later._

There was a more pressing matter to attend to.

Sure, Pidge bounced back quick. Some people did. Made sense she'd be one of them.

But he knew all too painfully, devastatingly well that not everyone was always as peachy and dandy as they made themselves out to be. Sometimes, pretending was just...easier. Helped one avoid uncomfortable confrontations. Those could get intensely personal. And, call him crazy, but Pidge didn't come across as the 'intensely personal' type.

A quick scratch of the surface couldn't hurt, though, could it?

"As much as I'd love to talk about how adorable Keith is with his mullet all done up," Lance said, ignoring his Dom's fire-eyed stare. "...I gotta ask. Do you want to - talk? About what upset you?"

Lance expected to be turned down. He expected to back off with hands raised in surrender and assure her that not talking was fine, too.

Instead, Pidge shocked the other three occupants of the room with something rare: her compliance.

Her shoulders deflated as she heaved a sigh. She dropped her gaze to her criss-crossed legs and nodded.

"It's not a big deal." There was honesty in her voice. Lance trusted his gut instinct; heart-to-hearts were his _thing_. "Dad was just saying a bunch of nice stuff. Saying he loved me. And it reminded me how much I miss him and Matt. How much stuff they're missing, being out there. I finally let Mom throw me a birthday party, and Matt wasn't there to DJ it. Mom got a promotion at the Garrison last month - she's in the botanical research division now. She came home that day all excited, and then she realized she couldn't just walk in and tell Dad about her day anymore. She really misses him. Never says anything, but I can see it in her eyes, you know? I can feel it."

They listened with rapt attention until Pidge trailed off. In the silence, Hunk shot Lance a pleading look. _What do we say?_

Luckily, the burden to empathize was willingly lifted from his and Hunk's shoulders.

"If it helps," Keith said quietly, "We miss Shiro like fucking crazy, too. I got an A on a test the other day. Been stressing all week, thinking I was gonna fail it. After class, I went to call Shiro and Adam - they always get excited about dumb shit like that - and it wasn't until Adam picked up that I remembered I could only tell one of them."

Lance's playful smile turned twisted, sad. "I miss Shiro's hugs. His arms are _huge,_ and he's always all warm. He's so easy to be stupid and silly with, too; it reminds me of my big brothers. Kind of makes me feel like I have a third one."

Hunk looked between the three of them and shrugged.

"I have nothing valuable to contribute. I'm just here for Colleen's cocoa." He turned on the couch, eyeing the entrance to the kitchen. "I wonder if it's almost done..."

Pidge punched his shoulder. Hunk whirled back toward her with an indignant squawk.

"Way to kill the 'deep shit' mood." She huffed, but Lance knew she wasn't too annoyed, because he wasn't, either. Their mismatched little group could only maintain that 'deep shit mood' for so long. They'd about reached their quota for the month, if you asked him.

"Just remember," Lance said. "You're not alone in feeling that way, in missing them. We understand."

Pidge nodded and blinked a few times, then cleared her throat. "I won't forget. But don't get annoyed if I blow up your phone at three in the morning with dumbass old selfies of me and Matt. You asked for it."

Lanced rolled his eyes. _Badass gremlin_. Accurate enough.

She was right, though. He did ask for it. And, given the chance to do the past hour over, he'd open the door to late-night selfie spams again in a heartbeat.


	102. through trouble or rain or fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Five floors of life and death and everything in between loomed above him like a threat.

It just - looked so _powerful._

Vast. Great. Five floors of life and death and everything in between loomed above him like a threat.

He'd never been so simultaneously enraptured and terrified. 

Keith took his hand, intertwined their fingers, and squeezed tight enough to sever blood flow. Lance gulped. He grasped back with equal zeal.

"We don't have to do this," Keith said. Lance continued to stare at the hospital's entrance, but he knew without looking that he himself was the focus of his Dom's attention. "Seriously. We can just go home if you start feeling uncomfortable. Your choice."

The consistent reminders that Lance had final say regarding Alexander came from a good place. Everything Keith did for and said to him came from a good place. A road paved with well-intentioned concern.

But he wished the reminders would stop.

As much as Lance appreciated being handed the controller for such deep, personal aspects of his life, the reminders didn't make him _feel_ like he was in control. In fact, they did the exact opposite. They reminded him how little control he could actually retain in the situation. 

Face the music and risk manipulation, verbal abuse, and intense anxiety, or walk away and potentially spend the rest of his life regretting it. Those were his choices. That was all he got.

What kind of _control_ was that? No escape without the hazard of possible suffering. No participation without _guaranteed_ suffering. A rock and a hard place, and Lance was pressed so tight between them, he feared he might suffocate. 

"I want to see him," Lance said. "He can't do anything to me he hasn't already done a thousand times." _But if he dies before I get to say goodbye, because I was scared, because I wasn't ready..._

Who knew how he'd feel? He sure as hell didn't. But he liked to think he was mostly immune to Alexander after so many years. Not even such a persuasive man could cut through that thick emotional callous. 

The most ironic, bitterly hilarious part? Alexander was the one who'd formed that callous over his son's soul in the first place, oblivious to its existence all the while. 

_Done played yourself, bitch._

Keith nodded in acceptance of his choice, no hesitation. "Alright. Just tell me if you change your mind. Or if you need a break. Coffee break; recharge your battery. Five, ten minutes-"

"Hey, Marlin? I'm not Nemo the disabled clownfish."

He stole a peek from the corner of his eye and found that a faint blush dusted his mate's cheekbones. Lance fought to reign in a smile.

"It's your own damn fault," Keith grumbled. "If you didn't watch those shitty kids movies all the time, I wouldn't be fucking absorbing the dialogue."

"Excuse you? They are _not_ just 'kids movies.' Pixar creates masterpieces that defy the laws of the universe itself, you uncultured swine."

"Uh-huh."

"How dare you defile the holy name of _Finding Nemo?_ Aren't you ashamed of yourself?"

"Sure am."

"Unbelievable. Morally repugnant."

" _Finding Dory_ sucks ass, too."

"How does a monster like you sleep at night?"

"Like a baby fresh off the tit, sweetheart."

Lance scoffed and glared in mock-disgust. The smile fighting to twist his lips was harder to suppress every second. 

"People like you ought to have your eyes taped open and be forced to watch _Mulan_ on loop until you admit defeat."

"...yeah. About _Mulan?_ Shitfest."

If Lance laughed too loudly as they traversed Plant City Regional in search of the oncology ward, earning glares of disapproval from staff and visitors alike - _well._ Look at the man by his side. Look in his eyes. Listen to his _voice._

Could you blame him?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> bby keef is so good at distracting bby lonce and making him feel better dsifhdgllsfgbns 
> 
> i stan two (2)!! cuddly!! thots!!


	103. let's reach out to something higher

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> His hand was a foot away from the door. He could knock. He could do it easily.
> 
> Wasn't easy at all, though, was it?

The mirth faded quickly. For once, Lance was alright with that. Content to enjoy a brief burst of happiness without curling his fingers desperately around the last tendrils when it began to slip away. 

Joy would find him again. It always did.

But what waited behind the door to room 103A was more urgent than joy. That had to take priority.

"You want to knock, or should I?" Lance murmured, legs bouncing, toes tapping. His hand was a foot away from the door. He could knock. He could do it easily.

Wasn't easy at all, though, was it?

"You need me to go in first?" Keith asked. "I can do that, sweetheart. That's not a problem."

The Dom moved forward to do so. Lance caught his arm.

"Wait! Wait," Lance said. Keith's knuckles froze hovering an inch from the door, eyes locked on his sub, and he slowly lowered his hand. "No. I want to do it. I want to go in first."

Keith rocked on his heels. Pursed his lips. Hesitated. "Are you sure?"

"I'm sure."

An internal battle was made visible via the window of Keith's eyes. To protect from any and all potential harm with sniper-like precision, or to give his sub room to move and grow without being stifled? Lance could only hope Keith had some gut feeling as to which was the right answer, because he sure as hell didn't.

"Alright,” Keith said after a moment, and Lance released his arm. The Dom stepped aside and jerked a nod toward the door. “Go ahead.”

Well, he’d quite literally asked for that, hadn’t he? Didn’t make it any easier to rap twice on the door, hear a hushed _come in,_ and clench white-knuckled, trembling fingers around the handle. Lance never would have thought something as trivial as opening a door could be so difficult.

Alexander was asleep, wires hooked to his chest, fingers, and head winding together and leading Lance’s eyes to the steady, unsynchronized _beep-beep-beep_ of multiple machines.

He looked horrible.

Lance attached no emotion to the thought. It was not a feeling, neither negative nor positive. Merely an observation. 

An objective observation, because he looked horrible in the sense that, should Lance snap a picture and show any stranger on the streets, they’d no doubt pinpoint him as a dying man. How could they think anything else? One would have to be actually, legally blind to not see as much.

He understood Rachel’s bewilderment now. Her confusion was justified. They all felt it, a heavy blanket of seriousness and moral weight that lay over the room. One couldn’t come through that door and not feel smothered.

How had Alexander deteriorated so _quickly?_

Lance knew how.

The man’s spirit and health had been dwindling all along – but he’d adapted. With each step of his descent, he became a little more skilled at masking his pain. Alexander was great at that, rapidly learning how to cover his tracks in a new scenario. Practice made perfect.

This day wasn’t too different from three days ago. His tumor hadn’t tripled in size overnight. Pain hadn’t struck him deeply and suddenly, without warning.

He just couldn’t hide it anymore.

Verita – Mama, his sweet, poor Mama – sat in a cushioned chair at her mate’s head. She held one of his wire-infested hands, cradled it in ten smaller, daintier fingers.

Veronica and Rachel kept their distance

As much distance as they could without leaving the room. Their two chairs, identical to Mama’s, were pressed against a far wall opposite the door. The legs of Rachel’s chair touched that of their sister’s. Rachel herself was sound asleep, head lolled on Veronica’s shoulder.

Veronica, on the other hand, was wide awake. She stared unblinkingly at Mama as the older woman doted on Alexander’s prone form. Lips pursed in a deep, existential kind of thought. Arms crossed over her chest for protection.

Why was she always trying to shield herself? What did she believe she was in danger of? Or, rather, _who?_

He knew exactly what – _who_ – Veronica feared. Lance once feared him, too.

God. He really had been terrified of Alexander at one point, hadn’t he? It seemed a thousand years old, that vague memory of a feeling, that phantom pain.

It took his eldest sister a moment to emerge from her thoughts. She slowly looked toward them where they stood just inside the doorway, and offered a strained smile.

“Hey,” she whispered. “Sorry. I was expecting the nurse.”

Expecting the nurse, sure, but she didn’t seem surprised to see them despite their lack of forewarning. Something in that, something unspoken, sparked his annoyance.

Of course she wasn’t surprised. She’d known all along that Lance wouldn’t be able to stay away from their father until the end. That he would cave.

He couldn’t be annoyed, though. He had no right to be. After all, she wasn’t wrong.

“Nope.” Keith cleared his throat and took the speaking role after a long moment of silence. Lance squeezed his hand in gratitude. “Just us. That okay?”

Mama finally acknowledged their arrival. She looked up with wet eyes. Her smile was sadder than her daughter’s, but significantly more genuine.

“Of course that’s okay,” she said. “Thank you for coming, _mijo_. Keith.”

Keith nodded. “Of course.”

The Dom’s voice was stiff. Lance averted his eyes when it struck him how long he’d been staring at his parents’ linked hands.

Would Alexander allow his sub to hold his hand so openly, allow her to showcase the gesture to others, if he was awake to protest?

No, Lance decided. The man would rather die.

(And he would.)

Mama was so honest in her happiness at seeing them. As if Lance was a shining light in all this darkness. He realized with a pang that, in her eyes, that was probably exactly what he was.

So when a nurse really did enter to check Alexander’s vitals and kindly offered to bring them two more chairs – when Mama’s eyes brightened at the prospect, though she never verbally pressured them to stay –

How could he have possibly said no?

Lance couldn’t. He was powerless against his mother’s silent longing for his presence, her unintentional tug on his heartstrings.

“Yes.” Lance finally opened his mouth, and the nurse nodded. “Two more chairs would be great. Thank you.”

 _Yes_ , he said, though his stomach churned at the idea of being around when Alexander woke.

Perhaps Lance was even more masochistic than he thought.


	104. eyes open to one another (we are not alone)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance felt disgusted at himself. He reverted to his old ways in an instant, weak and pathetic. A whimpering, quivering mess. Shameful.

Alexander stirred.

Lance froze – in every sense of the word. Two malleable lungs grew iron-solid and immobilized. He wrapped his fingers around Keith’s; the joints of his knuckles stuttered, creaked, and stilled.

Mama leaned forward with wide eyes. She opened her mouth as if to coax her Dom back into the land of the living, then pursed it shut tight and gulped. One of her hands continued to cradle Alexander’s while the other soothed his hair wordlessly.

_Please,_ Lance thought in desperation, head pounding and thoughts buzzing – _please go back to sleep. Please don’t wake up yet. Give me two minutes to make an excuse and beat it. Please, please, please._

But since when did Alexander heed his pleas? As usual, Lance’s discomfort only encouraged his father’s actions. Full steam ahead.

Alexander’s eyes opened. The monitors made meek little sounds to announce the change of vitals produced by a change in consciousness.

“Verita,” he croaked, and made a weak attempt to clear his throat. His gaze flitted quickly around the room. He _was_ an intelligent man, but it hardly took a genius to recognize medical equipment when one saw it.

Lance watched realization dawn on his father. He could only bear a few seconds of the sight before he turned and buried his face against Keith’s shoulder, comforted by the protective arm that tightened around his waist. Across the room, the girls began to rouse. He heard a dozing Veronica shift in her seat at _Papi’s_ voice. A previously out-cold Rachel hummed in annoyance at her human pillow’s movement.

“I’m here, love.” Mama’s voice shook horribly. The affection evident in her utterance of love left a bitter taste in Lance’s mouth. “I’m here.”

“How long?” Alexander labored far too much to grind out a simple two words. His breath seemed harsh; that observation was confirmed by one of the steady streams of _beeps_ becoming quicker and more erratic.

“Couple of days,” Veronica said, foggy with sleep.

“I already notified every e-mail in your work contacts,” Veronica quickly cut back in. Likely for fear Alexander might pitch a fit at the preposterous idea of going a day without working.

“What’d it say?” Alexander asked.

There was a long pause.

“The message you prepared.” Mama dropped into a whisper. Lance strained to hear her. “The one you-”

“The one I told you...to send...” _Cough, cough._ A harsh pant. What, did he have secret lung cancer, too? Wouldn’t come as a surprise, considering his infatuation with Cuban cigars. And his propensity to harbor secrets. “...to send in case...of an emergency? In case I couldn’t...send it myself?”

“That’s the one.” Mama took a deep breath. “Alexander. My love, they...they’ve put you on bed rest. Indefinitely.”

“...I see.”

Alexander _did_ see. Lance risked a glance. His heart jumped into his throat to find his father stared directly at him. The man’s expression was blank.

Everyone stared at him, in fact. Everyone but Keith, who instead held him tight and looked unblinkingly at the linoleum. Even Rachel fluttered groggy eyes open, quickly assessed the situation, and followed their gazes. A whole family of stares locked onto him like a tractor beam.

He was pulled in, just like in those old sci-fi shows Adam and Shiro watched. _You will be assimilated. Resistance is futile._

“Hey,” Lance mumbled. He looked toward his father, the monitors that surrounded him, Mama, and back again. The sickly Dom’s gaze was too intense to meet for more than a moment. Something akin to looking directly at the sun.

Not to associate Alexander with a shining star. God, no; he was a surface of perpetual flames that raged at hellish temperatures, and the sight of him burned.

“Don’t start trying...to exchange... _pleasantries_.” Alexander snarled as best he could. His ‘best’ was weak, but Lance still flinched and cowered. Just like Mama’s tears, he’d heard that anger in the dead of night too many times to count, but rarely was he permitted the displeasure of seeing it.

Seeing it was a whole new ballgame, and Lance had no desire to play. He didn’t even know the rules. Were there any?

“I came to visit.” Lance felt disgusted at himself. He reverted to his old ways in an instant, weak and pathetic. A whimpering, quivering mess. Shameful. “They said you weren’t doing well, so...I-I just thought-”

“You thought... _wrong_ , kid.” Alexander wheezed. Seriously – was he supposed to be doing that? “Verita, girls – leave. Send the...fag out, too. Lance and I need to...” _Cough, cough, cough._ “...need to talk. Alone.”

Lance anticipated the reaction before Alexander finished his raspy sentence. Sure enough, Keith’s head shot up, jaw twitching, eyes ablaze. He moved as if to rise from his chair, and only stopped when Lance braced his heels against the floor in protest of being hauled to his feet.

“Like hell am I going to let him be alone with you.” Keith bared his teeth and growled. From his Dom, Lance found the primal, aggressive sound to be a comfort.

“Why the hell….not? That’s _my_ kid.”

“And my sub. Sorry, old man. Dom beats dad in a court of law. It’s my job to keep him safe.”

“Why wouldn’t he...be safe with me?”

If Lance didn’t know any better, he might have let himself believe it was a flicker of hurt that disrupted his father’s anger. He blinked, and it was gone. Nobody else seemed to have noticed.

A figment of his imagination, then. Wishful thinking. He’d fallen prey to a lot of wishful thoughts lately.

Keith barked a laugh. “You’re fucking kidding, right? Like everyone in this room doesn’t already know you beat the living shit out of your sub on a regular basis. If you can do something that evil to your own lifemate, I’d fucking hate to see how you’d treat somebody else’s.”

The room went deathly silent. Lance’s breath came quicker, harsher, and his ears rang.

There was nothing unreasonable in Keith’s statement. They all knew it. Even Alexander knew it – better than any of them.

Obviously, he could cause little to no physical harm in his condition. Hell, his talent for verbal spitfire was just as impeded.

Keith wasn’t afraid Alexander would magically gain the strength to raise from his bed, rip out all the wires, and bitch-slap his son clean across the room. Maybe he feared Lance might have been placed in the path of emotional damage in his absence. But Lance knew him well enough to know that, mostly, he was trying to make a point.

No, not trying. Succeeding. The words resounded. Lance sensed the weight of them on his shoulders. God only knew how Alexander felt.

If the sudden, renewed struggle for breath his father experienced and the warning flash of a monitor were any indication, probably not that great.

A nurse hustled into the room, calm but confused. She frowned and hummed at the monitor, then began to list off polite, brisk questions at her patient.

Keith gripped Lance’s shoulder in one firm hand. The other arm still encircled his torso in a protective half-embrace.

“Come on,” his Dom said through grit teeth, short, clipped, and Lance knew the thinly veiled anger wasn’t meant for him. “We’re leaving. Absolute _bullshit_ , Jesus fucking Christ.”

Lance, torn between relief and curiosity, strained to hear a fading conversation as Keith dragged him through the open door and marched them down the hall.

“He’s having trouble breathing,” Mama said with a note of panic. Lance could practically see her hands wringing together against her stomach. “Is that normal? I don’t think that’s normal.”

“It’s not unexpected,” the nurse soothed. “His immune system is compromised. He might very well have a respiratory tract infection. Nothing we can’t handle...go ahead and sit up for me...rest at an incline...lying flat all day is just asking for pneumonia...”

Keith must have known Lance clung to threads of the conversation that slipped rapidly from his grasp. He kept his pace hurried and his gaze set forward, but his hold loosened. The hand on Lance’s shoulder rubbed slow circles.

“Let it go, sweetheart,” Keith said quietly as they approached the exit of the oncology ward. “Keep walking. Just let it go.”

Didn’t have much of a choice, did he?


	105. ain't no life outside each other (we are not alone)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Save for his own shitty attempts to steady himself with deep breaths (how did Lance do Heigel’s counting fuckery all the time? Was he missing a step?) the car was silent.

Save for his own shitty attempts to steady himself with deep breaths (how did Lance _do_ Heigel’s counting fuckery all the time? Was he missing a step?) the car was silent.

Keith pressed his hands into his lap when they began to shake. Tremors of anger or fear? Jury was out. If anyone asked, though, he would have said anger. ‘Shaking with fear’ made him sound pathetic as fuck.

Lance stared downward and twiddled his thumbs. The way he worried at a corner of his lower lip might have been hot if it wasn’t clear the action stemmed from concern and uncertainty.

“You can talk,” Keith said shortly, breaking the exhale cycle halfway through to do so. _Oh. Maybe that’s why it’s not working._ “I’m not gonna bite your head off.”

“You might bite something else.” Lance winced even as he said it. His sorry excuse for a joke fell flatter than a sheet of old-fashioned paper. Still, Keith appreciated the effort.

“Smooth, sweetheart. Real smooth.

“Just trying to lighten the mood. Guess I’m not as good at that as I used to be.”

“You’re still good at it. It’s just...not always going to be enough.”

“Yeah.” A pause. “How are you feeling? Better?”

Keith choked on a humorless laugh. “Ask your damn self. My dad’s not the dying douchebag here.”

“You’re the one who’s angry.” Lance lifted his head to shoot him a pointed look. “ _I_ feel fine. Stop avoiding the question.”

Drats. His masterful evasion tactics failed again. Maybe they weren’t all that masterful.

“Shit, okay?” Keith ground his teeth together. “I feel like shit.”

Lance raised a brow.

“How so? Do you feel like shit about yourself, or about the situation? There’s a difference. Specifics, Keith.”

“I really don’t know. Not about myself. Not about you. That’s pretty much all the specifics I’ve got.”

The gears in his brain struggled to churn on through mud. Everything was too messy and dirty to get a clear picture of the problem’s source. Goddamn. Where was subspace when a Dom needed it?

“Okay.” Lance nodded slowly. His gaze was still locked on Keith, eyes shining with sympathy. Keith had an unreasonable amount of difficult meeting his sub’s gaze, but he did meet it, so there was that, at least. “Oh – _oh._ Oh, Keith, honey. Why didn’t you just tell me?”

Lance lit up and deflated in the same breath, like he’d just completed an impossible puzzle only to find the picture was a really depressing one. He leaned across the console and took both his Dom’s hands.

Keith frowned. “What? I didn’t not-tell you anything. What are you talking about?”

“Hospitals, babe. You’re afraid of hospitals.”

Keith blinked at him.

Oh.

_Oh._

Oh, shit. He _was_ scared of hospitals, wasn’t he? Lance somehow managed to diagnose his specific phobia before Keith even registered that messy, muddled, hand-trembling emotion as fear.

Fuck.

“ _Fuck._ ”

“It’s okay to be scared,” Lance said softly. He released one of Keith’s hands to trail fingertips down his face. “After your surgery – the _reason_ you needed a surgery – babe. You’re more than justified to hate hospitals. It’s okay. I understand.”

He was more understanding of that fear than Keith was, that was for damn sure. What kind of weak-ass, fool Dom developed a medical phobia from a simple operation?

“I wish I wasn’t.” Keith exhaled through his nose and his nostrils flared. “People aren’t supposed to feel traumatized by surgeries. Why the fuck am I scared? That’s such bullshit.”

“ _No_ , it isn’t. You cut that out, Keith Kogane. Your feelings are valid. You’re allowed to be afraid of things that bring up bad memories. End of story.”

“Well, damn. Are you the Dom now? Should I bend over and drop my pants for you?”

His words has exactly the intended effect. The corners of his sub’s mouth twitched for a moment, then curled upward in defeat.

“Shut up,” Lance said in a much lighter tone. “Not a single ounce of me wants to... _bone_ you.”

“I commend you for not saying ‘fuck.’”

“Mmhm. Feel better yet?”

Keith paused and assessed.

His hands no longer shook. Gears churned with the slightest bit more ease. He still felt like shit, but... _better_ shit, you know?

“Kind of,” Keith said in interest of honesty, and cleared his throat. “A little. Not completely, though. Still feel weird as fuck. You sure this is fear?"

Lance pursed his lips. He gave his Dom a once-over.

“Do you feel anxious?”

“Yes.”

“Then yes. I really think you have a mild medical phobia – which is _fine_ , and totally valid. I mean, take Dr. Heigel’s opinion over mine, obviously, but...” Lance trailed off with a shrug.

“Thanks. For helping me figure that out. And for, uh...” Keith swallowed thickly. “For not agreeing to be alone with your Sperm Donor. Probably wouldn’t ended well for anyone.”

Lance winced. “You’re right. And you’re welcome. Can we go home now? I’m tired.”

_Join the fucking club, sweetheart._

“Of course, beautiful. Let’s go home.”


	106. i wish you never thought you had to go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith never thought he'd go back to the days of slamming his fists against furniture in the Shirogane/Wyler household, fury coursing through his veins, but - well. Here they were.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i do apologize for the lack of update last night but i don't regret it!! i got home from work to unexpectedly find my sister who lives like 2 hours away and her husband brought their 6 month old baby (my first and so far only nephew) to visit, because they're moving back to our town before the end of the month and are apartment hunting!! i haven't seen da bebe in like 2 months and god he's so much more fun now that he can let other people hold him without crying for his parents. he's already saying "mama, mama, mama" in this whiny little voice when he needs something or is complaining about something, and he smiles in recognition when he sees my face instead of staring blankly. sfhabsdifbdsajhfs he's growing up so fast, my little man.
> 
> that's also why this morning's chapter is later than normal. they spent the night here so they wouldn't have to drive back late on the interstate and the bridge over tampa bay (the bridge over the tampa bay ocean is scary as fuck at night) and i played with lil bby dean while they ran to get themselves subway.
> 
> BUT THE GOOD NEWS IS i took a paid vacation day from work today, since i'm going to the wedding of two of my church friends this evening and i need a few hours to get the wedding glam goin' on. therefore i'll be able to make up the missing chapter from last night with an extra one this afternoon, in addition to the typical evening one which i'll post before i leave!
> 
> why do i often write no notes for many chapters in a row only to dump a huge note on you every now and again? who knows? i don't. just take my uneven spread of irrelevant information, smile, nod, and throw it in the trash when i'm not looking (just like you do with your aunt pattie's nasty fruitcake every christmas...yeah. i know about it.)
> 
> we haven't done a lil Q&A in the comments for a while, and i do have a few hours to kill, so - have any questions at all about requiem or the future of the hlp series? anything that hasn't made sense so far or that you're just curious about? please feel free to drop them in the comments! i'll try to scratch your itches for answers as best as i can without spoiling anything major! but fair warning to all readers; this means there might be end up being some minor spoilers in the comments section of this chapter.
> 
> some of y'all wanted to know what was going on with our beloved dadam, and now my demented dystopian overlord (aka, the story outline) is finally allowing me to show you! enjoy!

Keith never thought he'd go back to the days of slamming his fists against furniture in the Shirogane/Wyler household, fury coursing through his veins, but - _well_. Here they were.

"That's fucking bullshit, and you know it!" He could hardly control the snarled twist of his lips or the growl that slipped past bared teeth, so he didn't bother trying. He had every damn right to be royally pissed. "Don't fucking lie to me!"

Adam winced. He lowered bloodshot eyes to the floor, and Keith knew he was correct. He was. Now to push his father into admitting it. Piece of cake; provocation was his game. 

"It's _not_ true, Keith," Adam insisted, like he expected either of his kids to buy it for a second. Just because Lance was too agreeable in temperament to join the grilling didn't mean he couldn't see through his in-law like a glass window. "I understand you've been on edge lately, but really. Not every little rough spot someone goes through is cause for concern-"

"Bullshit! Bull. _Shit_. This isn't just a 'little rough spot' and we all know it. This is exactly how you acted when you-"

" _Keith_." Lance placed a hand on his arm. His sub's presence was soothing. The way he spoke as if in chastisement of a recalcitrant two year old? Not so soothing. "Babe. Come on. I know your heart's in the right place, but this conversation might be easier for everyone if we all calm-"

"No, Lance. No! You don't know how it is when he gets like this! You haven't seen it! He's never going to admit there's a problem until someone-"

"Fine. You're right."

Keith blinked at his father. "I'm what now?"

Adam dropped onto the couch with a heavy sigh, elbows propped on his knees and back slouched in a highly uncharacteristic display of bad posture. 

"You're right," he repeated. "I'll admit it. There's a problem. I'm - not doing very well."

He looked up at them. Keith's breath caught at the seriousness, at the weight of responsibility in his father's eyes. Anger abandoned him in a dizzying rush.

What shocked him most was the way Adam spoke now, held up in comparison to the last time he'd gone through an...'episode.' He no longer sugarcoated the situation to make it easier to swallow. Adam spoke not as if Keith were a child he felt obligated to shield from the truth, but like he was a fellow adult. 

Because that's what Keith was this time around. An adult.

Lance recollected enough of his mind to form words before Keith did.

"Oh...okay." The sub slowly lowered himself to a corner of the loveseat, perched on the edge of the cushion. "Thank you, Adam, for being honest. You know we only asked because we love you. Is there any way we can help?"

Adam gave him a strained smile. "I do know that. You're a very kind young man, Lance. But I _am_ going to be alright - and I'm not just saying that. This is hardly my first rodeo."

"First one without Shiro."

Keith remained standing, eyes and voice both cold as steel. He wasn't going to relax - _couldn't_ , in fact - until his father acknowledged the gravity of his admission. This wasn't just another bump in the road of life, not a job loss or a stressful season. A relapse into clinical depression was not a _pull yourself up by your bootstraps_ type of scenario.

Adam met Keith with equal determination and held his gaze. "First one without Takashi? No, son. It isn't."

"Weren't you both seventeen when you claimed him?" Lance asked, frowning, while Keith floundered in shocked silence.

"Yes, we were. I was no stranger to mental illness when Shiro and I met. I've always gotten through it just fine, and I'll get through it again. Trust me, boys - _I'm going to be okay._ I've done this enough times to know which way the wind blows."

Keith gulped. "Guess it's safe to assume you're not going to tell us about your...earlier years. Before Shiro."

"No. I absolutely am not. That stage of my life is long gone, and there's no reason to go back." 

Lance, ever the mediator, nodded as he glanced between the two Doms. "And that's fine. You're right. It was a long time ago. Your past is none of our business, anyway. Right, Keith?"

"What triggered it this time?" Keith sat stiff and ramrod-straight beside Lance. Fingernails dug into his palm. " _That_ part's our business."

Adam's jaw twitched, and he raised his eyebrows. "It certainly is. But I wouldn't think you'd need to ask."

Shiro. Kerberos. Separated from his beloved lifemate while said mate had limited years to spare. Separated from his children and left by himself in a quiet house too big and lonely for one occupant. All that shit.

Yeah. "Guess I don't."

"I didn't know you were having such a hard time." Lance's eyes gleamed. He stared at Adam, unblinking. "When I told you I missed Shiro, you said 'preaching to the choir,'  and then I asked if you were doing okay and you said _yes._ Why didn't you just tell me the truth?"

Adam shook his head. He finally broke from Keith's eyes to capture those of his other, more recent surrogate child. "Lance, son, don't go there. I did think that was true at the time. And it isn't your fault for not seeing some vague inkling of discontent I had yet to recognize in myself, so _please_...don't go there. Alright?"

Lance studied him for a moment. He looked as wary as Keith felt - maybe even a little distrustful. Nevertheless, he gave Adam a hesitant nod.

"Alright," Lance said quietly. "But you'll keep telling us the truth, right? You have to promise you're not going to try and lie to us again. This is way too important to hide."

"I promise. Would you like a pinky swear?"

"Wha - no! I'm nineteen, not _nine_. Why would I want a pinky swear?"

"I never know what you kids are doing these days. It changes too often. Old coots like me can't keep up."

Keith grit his teeth. How could they slip so easily into banter at a time like this? Jokes and laughs were for alleviation of their pain once the storm had passed, and this storm _hadn't_ passed. They were nowhere fucking near done talking.

"Yeah, okay, cool," he said impatiently. "We're all laughing and holding hands and frolicking through meadows and shit, that's fantastic, yippee. You're gonna see a professional, right?"

Adam blinked, then sighed. "Yes, Keith. Of course I am. This isn't-"

"I know. Not your first prison break." Keith leaned back and crossed tense arms over his chest. "Just making sure. Telling two teenagers you're _feeling sad_ isn't enough."

"I know it isn't. Boys, please, try not to carry this with you, alright? It's not your responsibility to worry about me. I'm the parent here."

No fucking way was he not going to worry. This was heavy, serious shit. How could he not _worry?_

"Yeah, fine. No worrying. Cool. Whatever."

Lance aimed a measured look his way. _Don't forget how well I know you,_ Keith interpreted. _Stop freaking. Everything's going to be okay._

Keith conceded in silence with a nod. He couldn't promise Lance aloud that he wouldn't fret over Adam's health. If he did, it would be a lie.

Very few things seemed to go well for them nowadays. Some wicked deity penned the story of their lives like a domino effect, mocking them all the while; that thing Lance liked to call _the cosmos._ Its audience, the laughing stars.

If things were destined to suck, then so be it. Keith saw no reason to get his hopes up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so apparently keith thinks i'm an evil deity
> 
> *sips tea*
> 
> [hey psssstttt…! some of y'all had a specific request/something you wanted to see between lance and keith in original hlp that unfortunately wasn't in the outline...something not really angsty but kinda hurt/comfort-y that happened to keith in one specific chapter of hlp...and no not the crying on the porch thing...another thing...that you wanted to see happen to lance too, because you mistakenly thought i'd make it all comfort and fluff...well, i'll go ahead and tell you now, the entire 8th act revolves around this happening to lance...but significantly more angsty than when it happened to keith in hlp…i'm not going to blantantly tell you what it is, but if you're one of the people who requested, you know exactly what i'm talking about]
> 
> fun times ahead!!!! …for me :)


	107. wish you never thought you had to leave

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Hey, Leo. Can you stay for a minute? I wanted to ask you something.”
> 
> Commence round two of Post-Group Therapy with a Highly Unqualified Non-Professional.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> MMMMM quick change of plans. my internet connection rolled in three hours late with starbucks and this is getting up way past the time it was supposed to, so this is going to be the last one for today. i'll try (T R Y) to post 3 tomorrow and another 3 saturday - that way we can crack open a sparkly new act first thing sunday morning
> 
> enjoy!

“Hey, Leo. Can you stay for a minute? I wanted to ask you something.”

Commence round two of _Post-Group Therapy with a Highly Unqualified Non-Professional._

Leo hefted his backpack on, looked at Lance through sleep-deprived eyes, and smiled. 

“Yeah,” he said with a shrug. “What’s up, man?”

Lance cleared his throat. He shuffled mostly useless papers back into a three-ring binder to look busy as the other three group members made their way out. Leo followed his gaze.

“Oh,” Leo said. “You mean, like, _alone._ Should I be scared?”

_No, but I should be. Everyone I know is falling apart and there’s nothing I can do about it. Please don’t add your name to the list._

“That’s the first time I’ve heard your voice today,” Lance said bluntly. He caught, and struggled to hold, his friend’s gaze. “You never go through a whole meeting without talking. You fell asleep on the table. Twice. What’s going on?”

Leo gulped. Brown eyes flickered nervously around the room, searching for an escape. Lance marked as much in his mental record of the other sub’s personality. _Doesn’t like confrontation._

“I stayed up too late studying last night.” Leo chuckled nervously. “Don’t worry about it, man. I’m tired. No big deal.”

Lance stared, unwavering. “But it is.”

“What makes you say that?”

“People don’t usually avoid eye contact and get all squirmy over ‘no big deal.’”

Use of the word _squirmy_ – was that even a word? – probably killed his edge. It was his lucky day; Leo was an easy person to tip over. Despite a weak delivery, Lance's words hit their target spot-on.

"It's not a big deal to _you_." Leo made a forced attempt at holding eye contact. As if that overcorrection could disprove Lance's point. "It's nothing you need to worry about. I promise not to fall asleep next time. Are we done now?"

"This isn't about falling asleep, Leo. This is about you. I just want to make sure you're okay."

Lance had his fingers crossed Leo would wave off his concern with, _I'm feeling a little under the weather,_ or even, _Call of Duty...well...called me to duty._ He still might have happily bought something along those lines if Leo hadn't turned out to be such a godawful liar.

Maybe his proclivity toward truth was a good thing, though. If he'd managed to fool Lance, who could say how long he might have bottled up those tears?

Leo sank into a chair, numb. The backpack slipped from his shoulders and he lowered it to the floor. Without warning, droplets of saltwater began to roll, and Lance felt an instinctual burst of panic - but it was unnecessary. His friend's face remained impassive.

"There was this Dom. I hung out with him for a couple of months, and we texted and stuff." Leo sniffed. Lance sat silent, brows drawn, and practiced the lost art of listening. "I liked him. I _really_ liked him. We were supposed to have our first 'official' date last night."

He paused and scrubbed furiously at the tear tracks on his face. Lance gave him a moment to regroup before prompting, "Supposed to?"

"Asshole stood me up." Leo dropped his now wet sleeves and released a humorless laugh. "I texted him this morning. He still hasn't responded. Guess he wasn't as into me as I thought."

Lance was a terrible person. A terrible, awful, _mean_ man.

The story didn't incite little pinpricks of empathy like it should have. He was instead flooded with overwhelming relief, because _God,_ that could have been so much worse.

To Leo, though, it probably was the worst. The peak of emotional pain he'd experienced in his young life. If this was the worst thing he'd ever felt...well, wasn't that good? It had to be worth something.

"Leo, that...that sucks." Lance faltered. Hiding relief and simultaneously feigning woe was a lot harder than it sounded. "Honestly? The guy sounds like a dick. Probably for the best you didn't go out with him."

Leo nodded. "I know. You're right. I guess it's good I saw his true colors before I could get too attached."

"That is good. Saved you a lot of unnecessary pain, don't you think?"

"I mean...yeah. Yeah, it did."

How much different would life have been for Mama if she'd seen Alexander for the monster he was, seen through his façade of compassion and charisma, before it was too late? How much _better?_

Leo dodged the bullet, though. Leo got out young, whole, and mostly unscathed. At least one less person would have to traverse Verita McClain's path - and that, Lance had no choice but to celebrate. Her path was hardly a pleasant one.

"Well, hey," Lance tried to insert some convincing bittersweetness into his expression as Leo looked up at him. Red-eyed but no longer in tears, he returned a small, sheepish smile of his own. "That's the good news, right? Now you can spend that time looking for better Doms. But, you know...get some sleep first. Those bags ain't Gucci."

Leo laughed. The sound was soft and true; music to Lance's ears. Music to anyone's ears, if they had any taste at all.

"'Course they're not," the boy grumbled. "Not all of us can have an in-law on Kerberos, Mister High-Class."

"I prefer the Real Slim Shady, but I guess that's alright, too."

Leo moved slowly toward the door, then paused. "Thanks, man. For real. It's cool how you check on people like that."

Well, _somebody_ had to. Lance shuddered to imagine what kind of mass chaos and carnage would break out in Plant City if he wasn't around to nudge people in the direction of self-care, emotional release, and general mental health. Snotty sleeves and lackluster, unmoisturized complexions as far as the eye could see. The stuff of nightmares.

"You're welcome," Lance said. "And you can call or text me if that dude tries to crawl back groveling. Keith's got a knife collection."

"Of course he does."

Why did that never surprise anyone?


	108. we can always lift each other up

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I feel like your use of the word ‘mullet’ should automatically free me of any obligation to respond.”
> 
> “Yeah, well, it doesn’t. Too bad, so sad. Tell me about your hug fetish.”

Lance laid his head on Keith’s chest, savored the sound and physical sensation of a heartbeat thrumming against warm skin, and melted. He made an active attempt to sync his breath with the Dom’s, for no reason other than to acknowledge the fact that he could. That was the _only_ one who could.

 _One and only._ That sentiment always sounded so mushy and _bleh_ when he was a kid. Now, he felt like he understood its significance on a spiritual level.

“I’m yours,” he breathed against bare skin. Keith hummed in approval and ran fingers through his sub’s hair, still wet from the shower. “You’re mine. God, I love you so much. You have no idea.”

“Oh, I have more than just an idea.”

“Liar.”

“Mmhm. I love you more, and you know it. You’re just too stubborn to admit defeat.”

“I swear, I’m gonna develop the first telepathic link-y device-y thing on day, just so you can enter my psyche and be proven wrong.”

“Sure.”

“What, you don’t think I can make a telepathic...thingamabob?”

“No, you could definitely invent it. I think you’ll do a fuckton of cool shit. But it’s sure as hell not going to prove me wrong. If anything, you’ll weep the instant you realize you spent all that time creating the world’s first mind-meld device, hellbent on proving your devotion, only to discover that you were wrong all those years and I do, in fact, love you more. And I’ll say, ‘I fucking told you so, bitch.’ Then I’ll buy a gallon of cookie dough ice cream to make you stop crying over the ultimate futility of your life’s work and our own existential pointlessness as a species of intelligent creatures floating on a lucky space rock. But I’ll still be right.”

Lance blinked. He slowly raised his head from Keith’s chest. The Dom greeted him with a neutral expression and a shrug. “...tell me again, _who’s_ stubborn here?”

“ _I’m_ playing out a hypothetical scenario.”

“And?”

“And _you_ literally, physically refused to leave the store the other day until I put my unscented shampoo back and got a strawberry one. I might be stubborn, but at least I’m a stubborn adult. You’re just a spoiled brat. Fucking strawberries in shampoo...”

Lance made an indignant little noise. “Why does it matter? I’m the only one who’s ever going to get close enough to smell it!”

“I hug people sometimes!”

“You really don’t.”

Keith rolled his eyes in lieu of response, and Lance returned to his chest with a huff of pseudo-annoyance. He’d almost gotten the synchronization of their lungs expanding and deflating _just_ right, then –

“Maybe I should.”

Keith spoke slowly, quietly, with hesitance. Like he wasn’t sure this particular train of thought was one he should chase out loud.

Lance nuzzled into his Dom’s skin and nodded. His instinct was to maintain eye contact, to assess his mate’s emotions in real time for optimal communication. He refrained. The same soul-searching kind of connection that Lance considered an aid was a hindrance to Keith. The man could only take so much opening up at once.

“What do you mean?” Lance asked carefully. No emotion, nor judgment. No anything. A simple question.

“Hugging. That shit’s good for you people with souls, right? I should hug people more often. You know – _select_ people. Adam. Maybe Pidge. I think I could safely execute a two and a half second Pidge hug and not induce profuse vomiting in either of us.”

“Mm. Maybe just two.”

“Shit, you’re right. Two seconds for Pidge. And only in case of emergency.”

“Keith, pray tell, _what_ would you consider to be a hug emergency?”

“Like. Somebody’s fuckin’ wailing like a banshee or something? Hug emergency.”

Wailing like a…

“...do you mean _crying?_ ”

“Well, sure, if you want to get all technical about it. God, Lance. Can’t a man vent about hugs without having his word choice corrected?”

Lance couldn’t resist looking any longer. He propped his elbows on Keith’s chest, their faces mere inches apart, and fixed him with a deadpan stare.

“Keith. You _hate_ hugs. Passionately.”

“Well, yeah. But other people don’t. And that shit _is_ good for people, right? Affection, or whatever the fuck they’re calling it nowadays.”

“Uh, yes. Affection is generally an accepted term for it. Kind of has been for centuries. And – I mean, _yes,_ you’re right. Affection does help most people. Especially most upset people.”

“Oh. Cool. Good to know.”

Keith dropped his head onto the pillows. His eyes left the sub’s to flicker around the dorm, studying trivial bits and pieces of décor, as if he didn’t already have their tiny space memorized.

“Hey,” Lance said, bopping his lifemate’s nose with the tip of one finger. “Get out of your little mullet-head. Why are you so interested in hug psychology all of a sudden?”

That one corner of Keith’s mouth twitched. The dimple made a split-second appearance. Lance blinked, and it was gone.

“I feel like your use of the word ‘mullet’ should automatically free me of any obligation to respond.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t. Too bad, so sad. Tell me about your hug fetish.”

That joke seemed to fall flat, much to the disappointment of Lance, who watched religiously for the dimple to bloom. Keith went silent. He closed his eyes and swallowed thickly.

“It’s just...” Keith started, then trailed off with a sigh.

Lance swiped what he hoped were soothing thumbs across his mate’s cheekbones. “Take your time. I’m not going anywhere.”

Keith did, in fact, take his sweet time. Enough of it to make Lance wonder if he’d dozed off, given his steady breathing.

Finally, his eyes fluttered, then locked onto Lance’s. “We just never think about this shit, do we? Nobody does.”

“Think about what?”

“Other people suffering. Like, everyone thinks about their own suffering – a _lot._ And, obviously, we all know everyone else suffers. But nobody ever...”

“...we never _feel_ anyone else’s pain.” Lance found the words for him.

Keith nodded. “I could feel it better. I could try harder, you know? I really could.”

Mama and the girls. Adam. Pidge. Leo. Lance couldn’t begin to imagine the influx of trying to empathize with all of them collectively. All their pain, all their fears, all their despair. Information overload.

But he could start with one. For now, one would be enough.

Lance sighed. “Oh, God. We should have been psychology majors. What kind of teenage boys willingly train themselves in empathy and compassion?”

“Woke as _fuck_ boys, that’s who.”

Lance laughed and pressed a kiss to his lover’s jaw. “I was just gonna call us weirdos, but woke works, too.”

“We’re not weird. Every other teenager is weird. Empathy makes you, like, ultra human. We’re leveling up.”

_Leveling up._

That didn’t sound half bad.

“Can we ‘level up’ in the morning?” Lance yawned and snuggled as close to his Dom as humanly possible. He caught a whiff of Keith’s hair in the process. “ _Mmm,_ strawberries...”

“I’m never using that shit again. Some little old lady with a walker stopped me in the store to tell me I should ‘put that boy on a leash’ because you were ‘disturbing other shoppers.’ You don’t deserve to smell strawberries all night.”

“Yes, I do – and yes, you definitely will.”

“I really fucking won’t. First braids, now strawberry shampoo. What’s next? Light-up shoes? I’m not a five year old girl, Lance.”

Lance snorted and mumbled sleepily. “You _act_ like one...”

The faux-essay entitled ‘Fifteen Ways Lance is Much More Like a Small, Bratty Child Than Keith,’ produced in the sub’s own sloppy handwriting, would be hard to explain to guests once it was taped to their dorm wall the next day.

Keith’s hair continued to smell of strawberries. The shampoo in the bottle dwindled.

Lance would be remiss not to file this punishment under _‘worth it.’_


	109. we can build a shelter for the weak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Do you want A.S.S. to have a hand in saving innocent sub lives or not?”

“So what do you think?”

To an outsider, a harmless question. To Lance, a loaded one, cocked and pressed against the dead-center of his forehead, her finger on the metaphorical trigger.

Well – okay. Lance was, perhaps, flexing his flair for the dramatic. He highly doubted Nevaeh would actually murder him via Glock in a back alley if he turned down her idea. God knew she was capable of it, but she wouldn’t (probably). She’d taken quite a liking to him, if he did say so himself.

Her scorn, however, frightened him only marginally less. Could you blame him? She was a terrifying soul.

“I...am...not really sure.” Lance spoke slowly, cautiously, glancing toward Nevaeh without lifting his head. Thank every deity _ever,_ she hardly looked offended. She looked determined; prepared. Like she’d expected to put up a fight. “You really think anybody around here will care about this? I mean...it’s a university. Those teary, save-the-children commercials begging for _just a penny a day_ are aimed at people fifty years older than us.”

“Well, yeah.” Nevaeh rolled her eyes. “But this is different. This isn’t some washed-out celebrity manipulating you. These are thousands of sub kids at risk of sex trafficking around the world. This shit? This is _real_ shit.”

Lance could appreciate that, and really, he did. It was nice to see subs united in helping children like them. But…

He took a deep breath. “Just because it’s real doesn’t mean people will believe it’s real. Or that they’ll even care.”

Nevaeh narrowed her eyes. Slowly, arms inched across her chest, closing her off. Lance shrank back in his seat with a wince.

Yep. There it was. The _scorn._

“Oh, I see.” Her eyes bore holes in his skull, voice ice-cold and heavy as a brick. “So because it might be hard, you’re not going to bother trying. Screw those at-risk kids in developing countries, right? All bets are off if we have to _work_ to save their lives.”

“Wha – I never said that!”

She turned her nose up and sniffed. “It was implied.”

... _oh,_ she was good.

His friend’s ice-queen facade cracked with a knowing smirk, and Lance blinked.

“Okay, wait,” he said. “Those celebrities are manipulative, and that’s bad, but you also...want me to let _you_ manipulate people for charity? That hardly seems consistent.” But, _damn,_ the girl knew what she was doing.

“Do you want A.S.S. to have a hand in saving innocent sub lives or not?”

“You know I can’t say _no_ when you phrase it like that.”

Nevaeh flashed piranha teeth. “Then don’t.”

Was it still wrong if it was done to profit at-risk kids?

Probably. But, hell – someone had to do it.

Might as well make it them.


	110. no man is an island, we can be found

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "I want you to look me in the eye and tell me I’m being unreasonable.”
> 
> Lance obediently held his gaze. “You’re being unreasonable.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 3 more chapters in act 7 after this, then we jump into act 8!
> 
> act 8...ohhhhh booooiiiiiiii...buckle up, fam...

“You might not like this.”

Keith slowly lifted his eyes from the notepad, expression wary. “Oh, God. You’re not pregnant, are you?”

Lance choked on air and blushed. “Sh-shut up! Do I look like a creature of estrogen to you?”

Perhaps not the best time to ask such a question. Keith looked up and down his body – towel knotted around his waist, another wrapped expertly over his head, green face mask in place – and smirked.

“You really want me to answer that?”

“No.”

“Wise choice. What might I not like, now?” Keith’s eyes flicked between him and the open-doored, steamy bathroom. “Wait, did you-”

“ _No,_ Keith. I didn’t jerk off in the shower. You don’t have to punish me.”

His Dom’s shoulders drooped. “Oh.”

Lance rolled his eyes. Insufferable.

This wasn’t going to become an easier question to ask the longer he waited. In fact, with each passing second, his apprehension grew. Might as well rip off the proverbial band-aid.

“So, uh. That thing. The one you might not like.”

“Mmhm?”

 _Rip._ Or should he say R.I.P? Could go either way. “I want to see Alexander again. I want to talk to him.”

Keith pursed his lips. “You _know_ I don’t like that. No ‘might’ about it. But you also know I’m not going to stop you.”

“That’s not the part I’m worried about.”

“...uh-oh.”

Yes. _Uh-oh._ That pretty much captured it.

“I want to talk to him alone.”

And there it was. Keith dropped the notepad and rose, eyes ablaze. He brushed past Lance toward the desk and placed the device in its specified drawer. Lance winced as it slammed shut.

“Absolutely the fuck not.”

“Keith. Babe, come on-”

“ _No,_ Lance. You may not be alone with him. It’s not safe. End of discussion.”

“Not safe? The man’s literally on his deathbed! What’s he gonna do, throw his TV remote at me? Splash me with Sprite?”

“I said _end of discussion,_ Lance.”

“You’re being completely unreasonable!”

Keith whirled around. There was some form of mania in his eyes, but not all of it was anger. Worry was there, too, so intense that it radiated, and Lance felt it in his bones.

“Think of all the shit he’s done to your mom.” The Dom’s voice shook. Lance shivered and averted his eyes. Keith grasped his chin, disregarding the texture of a dried face mask beneath his fingers, gently but firmly forcing him to look. “Think of how bad he’s fucked her up emotionally. I want you to look me in the eye and tell me I’m being unreasonable.”

Lance obediently held his gaze. “You’re being unreasonable.”

His mate’s face softened ever so slightly, edges rounding. “Fucking smartass.”

“I understand you’re worried, but you have to let me take risks sometimes, Keith. You can’t shield me from every little thing that might potentially cause me pain. That’s no way to live. That’s not how I _want_ to live.”

Keith closed his eyes. One side of his jaw twitched. His grip loosened, fingers trailing to rest on a pulse point along Lance’s throat.

“I know.”

“I need to do this."

“I know you do.”

“You need to _let_ me do this.”

“ _Fine._ Fine. You can...” Keith opened his eyes. He shook his head at the ceiling and swallowed thickly. “God, I can’t fucking believe I’m about to say this. You can talk to Alexander alone. _Trial run,_ okay? If it doesn’t go well, it’s never happening again.”

Lance smiled faintly. The face mask cracked around his mouth. “Fair enough. Thank you, Keith. And, hey – you can stay out in the the hall, if you feel like you need to be nearby. You know...as long as you don’t eavesdrop.”

“Damn. I can’t listen in? There goes my Reddit post to _r/EntitledPeople._ ”

“Oh, really? Who’s the entitled person, me or Alexander?”

“I decline to answer.”

“Mm. Okay. Then I decline to have sex with you this week.”

Keith snorted. “Like I’d sacrifice being gifted Reddit gold for _sex._ Get your priorities straight, Lance.”

“I would say ‘straight’ is really our forte.”

Keith pulled him close, arms wrapped tight around his toweled waist. The dampness of Lance’s chest clung to the Dom’s shirt. Keith didn’t seem to notice, let alone mind.

“You know we’re both going to regret me allowing this,” Keith said.

An unsettled feeling fluttered in his gut. Lance shrugged. “Maybe.”

Only one way to find out.


	111. no man is an island, let your guard down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Be careful. Don’t take any shit. Yeet his bull out the window. Drop-kick his ass if you have to.”
> 
> “Keith? He’s terminally ill and confined to a hospital bed. I’m not going to drop-kick him.”
> 
> “I would.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> "we'll start act 8 on sunday morning," she said. "i'll definitely get up 3 chapters a day," she said. 
> 
> ha...ha...haha, ha...i'm a liar.
> 
> but we WILL be starting act 8 tomorrow! it'll just be the last chapter posted in the evening, rather than the first posted in the morning. 
> 
> enjoy!

Keith smoothed hands through his hair and kissed his forehead.

“I won’t hesitate to bust that door down if I hear something I don’t like.”

Lance sighed. “I know.”

“I’m serious. The second somebody raises their voice-”

“ _Yes,_ Keith, I know. Relax, alright?” Lance ran his hands over the Dom’s upper arms. The muscles were tense and stiff. For once, they didn’t loosen beneath his touch. “Everything’s fine. I’m going to be fine.”

“...okay.” Keith shifted his weight. “Be careful. Don’t take any shit. Yeet his bull out the window. Drop-kick his ass if you have to.”

“Keith? He’s terminally ill and confined to a hospital bed. I’m not going to drop-kick him.”

“I would.”

“I know you would.” Lance pulled him in for a chaste kiss. “I love you. Try not to worry too much. Okay?”

“Yeah. Love you.”

Lance thought it best to leave things there, like a parent dropping off their preschooler; the longer he stuck around, the harder parting would be on both of them. He stepped toward the door. The bittersweet smile he left Keith with probably wasn’t reassuring, but it was the best he could do.

He knocked. A moment of silence, and then –

“Come in.”

Lance did. His hands trembled and his heart quivered, but he opened the door, nonetheless. He took one last deep, shuddering breath, and was thankful Keith had already moved to sit on a small bench some distance down the hall. No doubt his sub’s clear trepidation would have given him pause on an already hesitant decision.

Veronica’s promise via text to coax Mama out of the room for a while was kept. A promise from Veronica, _kept._ What a pleasant surprise.

Save for Alexander himself, the room was empty. His father rested upright in the bed. His fingers clicked away at the keyboard in his lap, eyes fixed diligently on the screen.

Lance shut the door behind him and gulped. “Are you supposed to be working?”

Alexander stopped at once. His fingers hovered over the keys. A perfectly neutral expression morphed into some mixture of amusement and exasperation.

“Do you think that’s any of your business?”

Lance shrugged halfheartedly. He made a vague gesture toward the abundance of medical equipment surrounding the bed. “Kind of everyone’s business at this point.”

Alexander heaved a sigh and closed the computer.

“You finally obeyed.” The smugness in his tone sent a shiver down Lance’s spine. He refused to let it shake his shoulders. “Came to have a chat with your old man? Knew you would. That ‘Dom’ of yours is too damn weak to control a sub. Pretty pathetic, really.” Alexander sniffed and flicked a piece of lint from his shoulder. “You people aren’t exactly hard to control.”

What the hell happened to his wheeze? Who did these doctors think they were, curing respiratory tract infections, like it was their _job_ to heal sick people or something? Lance liked his father better when he could hardly speak.

“I need to tell you something.” He made a point of keeping his voice calm and collected, as well as ignoring the provocative comments. “It’s pretty important. If you want to hear it, you can’t interrupt.”

“What is it?”

“If you want to hear it, _you can’t interrupt._ ”

Alexander scoffed and shook his head. The sickly man gazed at his son with a bemused smile. Like it was strange or outlandish for one to want to speak without being cut off.

“Fine,” he said. His tone made it clear he was merely humoring his youngest child. “Go ahead, kid. What big, important thing do you need to tell me?”

Lance pulled up a chair and perched on the edge. His heart pounded, his stomach flipped repeatedly, and the heat of nausea pressed in the back of his throat. He knew his resolve wouldn’t last long.

It was now or never.

“I need to tell you about the Garrison.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :)


	112. you don't have to fight me (i am for you)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The story was weaved with a numb mouth and an even more numb heart. 
> 
> No. Not the story. The memories.

The story was weaved with a numb mouth and an even more numb heart.

No. Not the story. The memories.

His tongue tripped often. Achy lungs stuttered, and the words stumbled along; a chain reaction. Lance had shared his story before. He shared it in therapy. He shared it in smaller doses with his friends and found family when a situation called for it. By and large, he had no problem with sharing.

But he’d never shared it like this.

In therapy, they’d taken it slow. Heigel was patient and compassionate as they worked through one memory, one day, one split second of his trauma at a time, until there was nothing left to share and their attention reoriented on the present.

The things he shared with loved ones were, more often than not, only shared to inform them of his triggers. _Pidge, please, don’t grab my wrists like that; I know you’re just playing, but I have bad memories of being held by the wrist. Hunk, honorary hermano, my best bruh – pin me to the floor when we wrestle, not the wall, because – yeah, okay, you get it. Adam, Shiro, can we maybe leave the hall light on at night?_

And he always thought _those_ things were difficult to say. He thought Pidge and Hunk’s pale, stricken faces and guilty apologies churned his stomach. He thought the sorrowful eyes and knowing, bittersweet smiles his in-laws flashed made his heart drop like a stone.

Nothing could have prepared him for something this intensive.

This was not a small bite of information, not a minuscule detail like wrists or walls or lights at night. It wasn’t a single moment of pain to chew over and dissect one second at a time.

This was _everything._

Everything, all at once, no truths barred, hitting him with the full force of a train. Lance didn’t bother to filter out the more gruesome details. The puking over a toilet bowl and sobbing hysterically, while blood that was his and semen that was not caused underwear to stick to his skin. The girl whose name he couldn’t speak because he choked on it when he tried – gripping his chin, _take it like a good little sub,_ forcing herself upon him until the pain of oversensitivity became unbearable, _I left my number under your pillow, didn’t you see it?_

 _Please stop,_ his own voice, familiar but so entirely alien, sobbed in the echo of a memory. _Please stop, I safeworded, please, I said no, no, no, no._

Shiro taking him home, because Alexander wouldn’t. Because Alexander was presented with an opportunity to change his ways and mend a broken relationship with his child – and he declined.

Not all of the memories hurt to walk through, though. Because after the pain, there was _Keith._

Lance saw it all in his mind’s eye with perfect clarity. Like he’d paused a movie, jumped into the screen, and could now admire each frozen detail.

Keith giving him the nourishment his starving body begged for when Alexander forgot other people had needs, too. Keith nursing his deteriorating health back from the brink of muscular atrophy and what would have, eventually – very soon, maybe – become starvation-induced cardiac failure. Keith filling his hollow stomach and heart simultaneously. Keith taking his hand when he stared longingly into the abyss of death, saying without need for words, _um, hey, yeah, let’s maybe_ not _do that._

Lance found his tongue rolling and lips forming letters without having to force them. He didn’t shy away from the parts one might not typically divulge to a parent. Once he got going, he kept going. Mostly for fear that any pause would become a full-stop.

Keith kissing him. Keith claiming him. Keith holding out a collar so unbelievably perfect, he could have sworn the Dom plucked the image directly from his brain. _It’s not gonna come to life and bite you._

_Are you gonna put it on me, or what?_

Keith laying him down so carefully, gently, hesitantly. Eyes filled with concern and uncertainty as he asked, _are you sure you’re ready for this?_

_Yes. With you, yes. Always._

As he spoke, Lance watched his father’s face. He searched the man’s eyes for some hint of emotion. Something besides that infuriatingly consistent mask of impassivity.

Nothing.

“So we both got into U.A.A. And...now, here we are.”

The well ran dry. Lance slumped in the chair and lowered his gaze to his lap. No more words; no more memories. He was all tapped out. No doubt he’d eroded his capacity to say or feel much of anything for the rest of the day. Maybe even the rest of the week.

Alexander hadn’t said a word. At least the request not to be interrupted was honored – for over an hour, at that. His father had never, as far as Lance was aware, gone an entire sixty-something minutes with ears open and mouth shut. That had to be a good sign, right?

Alexander shifted on the bed.

Lance tensed, closed his eyes, and waited.

The truth was out in the open, right where it belonged. No matter what happened, no matter what Alexander said, Lance couldn’t regret that.


	113. we're not meant to live this life alone

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Panic flooded his cells, and his typical methods of cleansing it out failed. No deep breaths with uncooperative lungs. No way to ground his feet without the gravity of his Dom’s hand intertwined in his own. Lance was shocked he didn’t float off down the hall, out of the hospital, and into a gloomy, pre-rain sky. He wanted to. 
> 
> God, did he want to.

Lance clenched his eyes, teeth, and hands in unison. Lungs and muscles followed the example. His diaphragm trapped half a breathe in place, confined until the environment proved safe, until his body could be certain it would not inhale toxins.

Alexander shifted his weight briefly, then went still. The drone of medical equipment filled the space between father and son. Neither of them dared speak first.

Panic flooded his cells, and his typical methods of cleansing it out failed. No deep breaths with uncooperative lungs. No way to ground his feet without the gravity of his Dom’s hand intertwined in his own. Lance was shocked he didn’t float off down the hall, out of the hospital, and into a gloomy, pre-rain sky. He wanted to.

God, did he want to.

“Son. Look at me. Please.”

_Please?_

Such a polite word sounded alien in his father’s voice. His calm, quiet voice, devoid of emotion, but also devoid of the man’s typical arrogance.

Lance’s eyes flew open, and he lifted his head to meet the older man’s gaze. Not for the sake of _obedience_ toward his father. Hell, no. Mostly out of surprise.

Alexander’s face was blank as it had been all along. His eyes were clear.

Lance gulped. “Well? I’m looking. Do you have anything to say?”

Blank expression. Clear eyes. Unwavering voice. Words that showed no pretense of mercy as they tore into Lance’s soul with fervent hunger, unfeeling, and began to shred him to pieces.

“Why’d you just waste an hour of my life on that crock of absolute bullshit? Why, for the love of _God,_ would you want to steal a dying man’s precious time? Do you like to see your old man suffer, kid? Is that it?”

Manipulation, through and through, clear as day to experienced ears. Lance couldn’t fall for such a silly little trick, of course. Not the way he used to. He knew better.

But his heart shattering audibly on the linoleum – blind hope he’d foolishly allowed himself to hold onto _screaming_ as it died –

For that, he did fall. Hard.

It hurt. It hurt, hurt, _hurt._

But it was hardly a surprise.

“It’s not bullshit,” Lance whispered, a spark in eyes even as his vision blurred. He stared at his father with all the heat and judgment he could muster. No effect. Cold-souled brown met him with ease. “It’s the _truth._ That’s what happened to me. That’s what you’ve been brushing off your shoulder for over a year. That’s-”

“No.” Alexander shook his head. “You couldn’t keep your legs closed. You practically invited your classmates to treat you like a whore. They’re young Doms, for God’s sake, of _course_ they’re going to jump on the first sub who puts himself out there.”

“I didn’t put myself-”

“Yes, you did. Pretending you were one of them? Playing hard to get? You were asking for it. Can’t complain when you get what you asked for.”

“No! Nobody asks for-”

“You’re _dramatic,_ Lance. You played a game and you lost. Well-mannered subs don’t pitch fits when they get what they had coming – but I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you don’t know your place. Verita raised you, after all.”

Lance rose from his seat. Fists trembled at his side, and he suddenly understood Keith’s violent urges with unbelievable clarity. He blinked away the tears; he had no use for them. He wasn’t sad.

He was _furious._

“You know what?” He said, voice menacingly low. “I’m done. I’m done trying to get through to you. I really thought there was some good left in there. Guess I was wrong.”

He turned on his heel and started for the door – then stopped dead in his tracks. Somewhere, somehow, Alexander found the nerve to _laugh._

“I’m plenty good, kid,” he said. “But sure, go ahead. Badmouth me while you still can. Can’t speak ill of the dead.”

Lance looked over his shoulder, hand on the door handle, knuckles white and trembling.

“No,” he said. “Everything good about you died years ago. Doesn’t matter if your body isn’t dead yet. Your soul is. Enjoy your last few weeks as a shell, Alexander – just don’t expect me to care when that monitor flatlines.”

Finally, a ripple of something crossed Alexander’s face. Something unreadable. “What, you’re not gonna spend my last days with me, just because I hurt your precious feelings? Aw, come _on,_ kid. Seriously?”

“I never said I wouldn’t be around. I’m just not going to treat you like you’re more than a brain-dead body waiting to stop pumping blood. Why should I? You’re not.”

“See? There you go again with the dramatics. Damn, I forgot how theatrical you can be. It’s exhausting. Don’t you have any empathy?”

Lance opened the door, feet heavy, no longer at any risk of floating away. He didn’t look back.

“I’ll see you later, Alexander.”

An unwelcome memory bubbled to the surface. His own childish giggle; _see you later, alligator!_

That face, but fourteen years younger. A genuine smile. Genuine love. _Papi._

_In a while, crocodile._


	114. [VIII] all that i want is to wake up fine

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance groaned as he rolled over in the bed, and two viable options came to mind: either the university had decided to do some construction work on their dorm building mid-semester, or someone was trying to murder him with a sledgehammer to the head.
> 
> The closer he drifted toward consciousness, the more unlikely both those concepts seemed (the latter perhaps a tad more so). But there was definitely a hammer involved.
> 
> Or not.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> yeeeet here we are!! a shiny new act!! 
> 
> *puts on bib and rubs hands together* idk bout y'all but i'm ready to DIG INTO THE YUMMY ANGST

**ACT EIGHT: HARD TIMES**

**(chapters 114-127)**

 

* * *

 

["Hard Times" - Paramore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=V0hvzjyuZ5k)

 

* * *

 

"If you're going through hell, keep going." - Winston Churchill

 

* * *

 

 

Lance groaned as he rolled over in the bed, and two viable options came to mind: either the university had decided to do some construction work on their dorm building mid-semester, or someone was trying to murder him with a sledgehammer to the head.

The closer he drifted toward consciousness, the more unlikely both those concepts seemed (the latter perhaps a tad more so). But there was definitely a hammer involved.

Or not.

He opened leaden eyes, though they protested vehemently, and blinked. The dorm was in perfect order. Not a hammer, nor a power drill, or even a jackknife in sight. What pounded was his own blood; pressure boomed behind his ears and made his pulse audible.

It took all of five seconds for that pressure to explode. Fireworks of pain burst along the back of his skull, and hot sparks expanded to his temples before they fizzled out.

Lance pressed his face into the pillows and groaned again, this time with more vigor. He shivered and curled tight beneath the covers, tense legs tucked against his chest. Why was their room so _cold?_

“Lance?” Keith whispered somewhere near his head. A hand ran gently through his hair, and Lance whimpered as he nuzzled into the touch. “You’re burning up, sweetheart. I think you’re sick. Just try and go back to sleep, okay?”

His eyes were open in an instant. Lance turned his face away from the pillows and gazed blearily up at his Dom. He kicked the covers off and made to sit up, inciting a struggle so brief it was almost pathetic. Keith pushed him back onto the mattress with ease. The sub squirmed for a solid second and a half before he sighed and went limp.

“I _can’t_ go back to sleep.” The feelings of frustration and urgency Lance tried to convey were sabotaged by his own weak, croaking voice. Clearing his throat brought only marginal relief. “I have class soon – we both do. I gotta get up.”

“No. You really don’t.”

“ _Keith-_ ”

“There’s no detention in college, Lance. Nobody’s going to punish you for skipping a day.”

“There are bad grades in college!”

That did give Keith some pause. He stared at his mate with pursed lips, and Lance raised expectant eyebrows. 

“There are,” Keith conceded, irritatingly vague.

“ _So?_ Let me up.”

“Lance, you haven’t missed a singe class all semester. You can’t take one sick day?”

“I _could,_ but since I’m not sick, it would be kind of pointless.”

Keith fixed him with his patented deadpan, hear-no-bullshit look. “Oh, okay. You have a temperature and your face is red as fuck, but you’re not sick. That’s believable.”

“Of course I’m warm and flushed. I’ve been under a big blanket for six hours.”

Lance sat up. Keith made no attempt to stop him this time, though his hands twitched at his sub’s movement. Bones creaked and groaned ominously. The sound reminded Lance of a haunted house, and he fought to keep a grimace off his face.

“Are you sure?” Keith asked, brows pinched. His eyes searched every inch of the other’s body, as if seeking evidence of illness on his skin. “It’s alright if you’re feeling shitty. I’ll stay with you.”

Keith’s offer to care for him at the detriment of his own school career hardly made Lance want to cave. On the contrary; it was the last ounce of strength he needed in order to suck it up and press on. 

“I’m sure,” Lance said. “Seriously, I’m fine. Just a headache. Nothing some ibuprofen can’t fix.”

Keith took both his hands, touch exceedingly gentle, as if his sub’s fingers were made of fine porcelain. Lance’s resolve wavered. A kiss pressed to his forehead – his, admittedly, very _warm_ forehead – was just the cherry on top of an unintentional guilt trip. 

“Okay.” Keith moved to kiss his cheek, his nose, his lips. “Just call me if you start to feel any worse. Alright?”

Lance closed his eyes, savored the pampering, and lied. 

“I will.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *narrator voice*
> 
> he was, in fact, sick.


	115. tell me that i'm alright (that i ain't gonna die)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nobody touched him. Nobody raised a hand or even a voice in his direction. Nobody paid him the slightest bit of attention. Lack of provocation made this, by all accounts, entirely uncalled for.
> 
> But, apparently, that bitch in his head he called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder needed no reason to torment him.

There was no reason for it.

Nobody touched him. Nobody raised a hand or even a voice in his direction. Nobody paid him the slightest bit of attention. Lack of provocation made this, by all accounts, entirely uncalled for.

But, apparently, that bitch in his head he called Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder needed no reason to torment him.

Lance clutched at his chest as he moved behind the other students exiting his class, feet sluggish and dragging, tripping over air. Why couldn’t he breathe? Sure, he was congested, but not _that_ congested.

A shoulder brushed his own. The girl flipped her hair as she glanced over her shoulder and offered a disinterested, _oops, sorry._ It was just an accidental bump in the crowd; no big deal. She’d even apologized (albeit halfheartedly).

Of all the things in the entire universe, _this_ set him off.

His lungs closed up slowly, ominously, firing neurons that carried the threat of asphyxiation to his brain. Terror fogged his vision, and he stumbled to a stop on the concrete path, fingers clawing at the front of his shirt. None of the people around him seemed to notice his struggle.

Why couldn’t they see something was wrong? Why wasn’t anyone calling for medical assistance? Why weren’t they helping him?

Why couldn’t he _breathe?_

_Oh, God, I can’t breathe. Oh, God, shit shit shit ohmygod._

Keith was right. Lance was sick. He shouldn’t have gone to class. He should have stayed in bed. Keith was right, right, right, and there was nothing he could do about it now. God, he should listened. He never listened. Why didn’t he ever listen? Keith only wanted what was best for him.

_Keith. Keith can help. I need Keith. Keith, Keith, Keith._

Lance turned on his heel and swayed precariously in place. The world around him swam through tears he hadn’t realized he was shedding. There, to the right, flanking the building he’d just exited – the lecture hall that housed a class he and Nevaeh shared. He somehow managed to tap into his deductive reasoning skills enough to register that dark windows meant lights off, and lights off meant no class.

Lights off could also mean locked doors.

He took his chances and moved toward the building, just barely catching himself in time to prevent a faceplant thrice along the way.

Thank _literally any and all gods ever conceived,_ the doors to the lecture hall were not locked. Lance choked on a sob as he flung himself into the darkness, bumped his hip on a table corner, and fell to his knees to scramble beneath said table.

Realization struck him too late. The doors were unlocked, and it was _dark_.

Anybody could have been in that hall. And he had no way of ensuring his isolation.

Lance was holding a ringing graviphone to his ear before he could even register making such a choice. He gulped tiny rushes of air into his lungs as his chest heaved, the exhales nothing more than wheezes and each inhale a sharp gasp. Whether his entire frame shook with oxygen deprivation or fear, he was none the wiser.

“Lance.” Keith picked up on the third ring. “You’re sick, aren’t you? I tried to tell you, sweetheart. Tell me where you are, I’ll come walk y – _Lance?_ Shit. Are you having a panic attack?”

“K-Keith.” Lance sobbed. He was suddenly overwhelmed with a _need_ to be held in his Dom’s safe, warm arms. “Keith, please, I c-can’t breathe. I need you. I need you, _please._ ”

“ _Shh._ Lance, where are you?” Keith asked in his own muted form of panic. Lance shook his head, though he knew Keith couldn’t see him. Oxygen was scarce enough as it was. He wasn’t about to waste any more than he had to on words. “Come on, baby boy, you’ve gotta tell me. I can’t come and help you if I don’t know where you are.”

“My ph-physics class.” Lance inhaled greedily. The noise had to be audible over their call. “I don’t remember the...the building name, it’s...”

“That’s okay, sweetheart. I remember where it is.”

“Keith. Please.”

“ _Shh._ I’m on my way, sweet boy. I’m gonna come help you. Hey – why don’t you try your counting breaths, hm?”

“C-can’t. I can’t.”

“...okay. Okay, Lance. I’ll be there in two minutes. Just listen to my voice and keep breathing.”

Two minutes was _not_ an accurate ETA. It felt like an eternity had passed, Keith mumbling platitudes in his ear that were halfway drowned out by Lance’s own gasps and wheezes, before the door opened. Light spilled in. Sunshine was soon replaced by the narrow beam of a built-in phone flashlight.

“Lance? Sweetheart?”

Keith knelt in front of the table. His face was just barely distinguishable. Lance squinted and shielded his eyes from the sudden light.

“ _Keith._ ”

He scrambled forward, hardly registering the _thump_ of his head against the bottom of the table, and threw himself into the Dom’s arms. Keith’s phone clattered to the floor; neither of them paid it any mind. Light splayed across the ceiling and cast a shadow on the sorrowful scene.

“You’re okay,” Keith whispered in his ear. Hands soothed over his back, through his hair, up and down his thighs. “ _Shh, shh._ It’s alright, beautiful. I’m here for you. Everything’s okay now. I’m here.”

Lance shook his head in small, jerky motions, holding both of Keith’s biceps in vice-like grips.

“ _No._ ” His sob was muffled by the Dom’s shirt. “It’s not okay. It’s n-not. Nothing’s okay.”

Would it ever be?


	116. all that i want is a hole in the ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It wasn’t until he’d struggled the two of them inside and locked the door behind them that Keith finally had a free moment to take stock of Lance’s appearance. His poor, sweet sub looked like shit. “You really are sick, aren’t you?”

“There you go, sweetheart – watch your step, okay?”

Lance groaned, head jostling where it rested on Keith’s shoulder, eyes heavy-lidded. Keith winced and fought the urge to groan in pain himself as he adjusted his grip. Lance was much scrawnier than him, but he was also taller, and _goddamn,_ the boy was heavy.

“’M tired,” Lance mumbled. Keith felt the words as though they were a physical tourniquet around his heart. And it wasn’t just the fact that Lance _said_ he was tired. It was how tired he _sounded._

Existentially tired.

“I know you are,” Keith said. He fumbled to unlock the door to their dorm, one hand working the key and the other arm holding up a solid seventy-five percent of his sub’s weight. “It’s alright, beautiful. We’re here.”

“Can I go t’ bed?”

“Oh, Lance...of course you can. Of course, sweetheart.” It wasn’t until he’d struggled the two of them inside and locked the door behind them that Keith finally had a free moment to take stock of Lance’s appearance. His poor, sweet sub looked like _shit._ “You really are sick, aren’t you?”

“Yeah.” Lance sniffled against his shirt. Keith tensed when his lifemate’s bottom lip wobbled. “Don’t feel good. Keith, I _really_ don’t feel good.”

“Okay. Okay, beautiful, it’s alright. I’m gonna take care of you. I always do, hm?”

“Always.”

“Damn straight. Let’s get you into bed, baby boy.”

Easier said than done.

If Keith found it difficult to wrestle his sub’s post-sex body into a prone position while Lance drifted in subspace, blissfully unaware, then getting his lanky form _into_ bed while he whimpered and mumbled about not feeling well was fucking rocket science.

He grit his teeth. “Work with me here, Lance. Just sit on the edge of the bed, okay? That’s all you have to do. Just _sit down._ ”

Careful as he was to keep any frustration from his voice, Lance made a sad little noise, brows pinched in a tell-tale warning of impending tears.

“I’m s-sorry,” Lance whispered, and sure enough, his voice was thick. A shiver rolled through his overly warm body. “Keith, _please._ I d-don’t feel good. Just want you to hold me. I l-love you.”

Talk about a fucking guilt trip.

“ _Shh._ Don’t apologize.” Keith watched in relief as Lance finally managed to lower himself into a sitting position. “ _I’m_ sorry, sweetheart. I shouldn’t be snapping at you. This isn’t your fault. I love you, too, and I’m going to hold you as soon as I get you settled. Alright?”

Lance sniffled, hiccupped, and nodded. He rubbed weakly at glistening eyes. “Y-yeah. Alright.”

“Good boy, Lance. Can you lie down for me?”

Thankfully, going from sitting to lying didn’t seem to be as difficult for him. Lance gladly obeyed. He breathed a shaky sigh of content when he slid from his Dom’s grip and into the pillows, and Keith watched his tense muscles relax.

What the _fuck_ was he supposed to do?

Keith was hardly well-versed in the care of sick people. On the rare occasion illness struck him, that bitch slapped _hard._ He was never conscious enough to care what his fathers or Lance did for him, let alone make note of it.

“What do you need, beautiful?” He sat on the edge of the mattress and ran a gentle hand through his lover’s hair. Lance’s eyes fluttered. “Do we have any medicine? You want some water?”

“Ibuprofen in the bathroom,” Lance murmured sleepily. “Two, please. Helps the fever.”

“Alright.” Keith sighed. His shoulders fell. At least one of them knew what the hell sick people needed. Just sucked that it had to be the person who _was_ sick. “I’ll be right back. Don’t fall asleep.”

“Mm.”

Two medicine tablets, one sip of water, and one gentle removal of the sub’s shoes later, Keith finally got to the part they’d both been anxiously awaiting: cuddling the ever-loving _fuck_ out of his sweet boy.

“Thank you.” Lance breathed the words against Keith’s chest as he tugged the blanket tighter around himself, sounding for all the world like he’d just been air rescued from the Titanic, and Keith swallowed a sudden lump in his throat that was definitely _not_ emotion. “Love you, babe. Thank you.”

“I love you, too. Don’t thank me for doing my job. Sweet dreams, Lance.”

“’Night.”

Keith must have been in a generous mood. He didn’t even point out the fact that it was actually two in the afternoon, not _‘night.’_ Lance yawned, nuzzled a little closer, and went still. Keith all but held his breath until the other’s evened out, deep and steady, albeit with the whistle of congestion.

He was right about Alexander being a callous, unfeeling shithead when Lance spoke with him alone. He was right about Lance being too sick for a full day of classes.

Keith ran soothing fingers through his sleeping mate’s hair and rolled his eyes at the ceiling. Why did nobody _ever_ listen to him? Sure, he wasn’t nearly as book-smart as Lance or Adam, but fuck if his gut instincts couldn’t be trusted.

“You’re gonna be the death of me,” he whispered, expression softening when Lance mumbled something insensible, nose scrunched in the cutest fucking way. “I’ll go into cardiac arrest at age forty, and that’s what the doctors will put in my file. 'Cause of death: rebellious sub.'”

But holy fucking hell, he couldn’t imagine a better way to go.


	117. you can tell me when it's alright for me to come out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If standing was a bad idea, then it would be safe to say taking a step was the worst idea Lance had ever spawned in his entire life.
> 
> You couldn’t have called it a step, really. More like a brief shuffle forward, followed by an introduction of his face to the floor when his legs protested the movement by immediately giving out.

It was the sound of his own teeth chattering that woke him.

That, and the shower running behind a cracked-open bathroom door – but mostly the teeth thing. The sound of the shower was a common and familiar one. His own skull rattling at superhuman speeds, not so much.

Lance groaned and kicked the covers off himself with the intention of standing. He realized his mistake half a second too late. Those shivers stemmed from the fact that their dorm was approximately the same temperature as Antarctica. Forgoing a blanket certainly didn’t help matters such as jaw earthquakes.

_God._ Could a November in Arizona really get so cold? Granted, he hadn’t lived there long, but even Christmas last year wasn’t nearly as chilly.

That steam drifting from the bathroom did look awfully tempting, though. Maybe he could hop in the shower with Keith. He hoped for the Dom’s sake that he wouldn’t mind the intrusion, because at _these_ temperatures, Lance was not about to take no for an answer. No amount of grumpiness could stop him from stepping under that stream of sacred warmth.

But the way the world swam and threatened to steal his newfound consciousness the instant he swung his feet off the bed –

Yeah. That might stop him.

Oh, God. Oh, _God,_ he felt like shit. What the hell was wrong with him? Every muscle in his body ached.

Stumbling to his feet was a bad idea. The sudden change in position invited a whole slew of new symptoms. His head joined the pain party, trying desperately to convince Lance that someone had split it open with an axe. That he was in dire need of medical attention.

Was he?

“Keith,” Lance said. Or tried to say. It came out as a whisper. Keith would undoubtedly have no idea his sub was calling for him, standing as he was beneath the noise of the shower.

Tears sprang unbidden to his eyes, and Lance was powerless to stop them from rolling. Panic seized his chest.

He needed help. The world was spinning, his body felt halfway dead, a panic attack was underway, and he needed _help._

Keith couldn’t hear him, though. Lance would have to drag himself into the bathroom to make his failing health seen.

If standing was a bad idea, then it would be safe to say taking a step was the worst idea Lance had ever spawned in his entire life.

You couldn’t have called it a step, really. More like a brief shuffle forward, followed by an introduction of his face to the floor when his legs protested the movement by immediately giving out.

The tears really flowed then. He could have sworn there were faint gasps and sobs coming from his mouth, but that ringing in his ears made it hard to tell. A weak fumble of his hand toward the bed found the blanket too far away. He had no hope of shifting to reach it; Lance regarded his fingers still possessing the ability to open and close as a miracle.

“Keith,” he wheezed through his sobs, voice low enough that even he could hardly hear it. “Keith, _please._ Help. _Keith._ ”

The shower hummed on.

He’d known it would. He simply wasn’t that lucky.

Lance curled up, knees to his chest, and wrapped shaky arms around his legs. The least he could do to keep himself warm. It made practically no difference.

Something told him this probably wasn’t the best time to fall asleep, but _God,_ the siren song of unconsciousness was strong. He barely had enough strength left to breathe, let alone resist such a force of nature.

“Keith.”

One last attempt before the current overcame him.

Lance closed his eyes and allowed the bliss of unawareness to drag him under.


	118. walking around with my little rain cloud

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He’d stepped away for ten minutes. That was it. Ten goddamn minutes to take a quick shower – and this was the scene that greeted him when he returned.

“ _Lance!_ ”

Ten minutes.

He’d stepped away for ten minutes. That was it. Ten goddamn minutes to take a quick _shower_ – and this was the scene that greeted him when he returned.

Lance. His beautiful sub. His good, _sweet_ boy, crumpled in a shaking, shivering, wheezing heap on the floor of their dorm.

Keith wasted no time in falling to his knees beside the other boy. Just listening to that sickly inhale and rattled exhale made his chest ache in sympathy. His own breath came in audible pants, quick and harsh, facilitated by panic and immense concern rather than illness.

Gently, _gently,_ he rolled Lance from his side onto his back.

“Oh, fuck, fuck, _fuck,_ ” Keith whispered as he took in the sight. The sub’s hair was soaked with sweat and stuck to a boiling hot forehead, cheeks a deep red and eyebrows pinched in pain. He stroked the back of one hand down Lance’s face. To not flinch away from the _heat_ he radiated took conscious effort. “Lance? Sweetheart, can you hear me? I need you to wake up now, baby boy. Fuck, Lance, _please._ Please wake up.”

There was no response. No fluttered eyelashes, no whimpers or groans. Not one finger twitched.

Fuck, fuck, _fucking fuckity fuck._

This shit wasn’t good. This shit was very not-good. It was, in fact, the worst shit _ever._

Adam.

The name struck him, a holy savior as far as Keith was concerned, and in an instant he felt like a child again. Young, confused, and scared, all he wanted was for his father to swoop in and save the day.

But he wasn’t a child anymore. And Adam wasn’t something straight from the pages of a comic book.

He could still very well be their hero, though.

Pulling himself away from Lance’s side long enough to snatch his phone from the nightstand was five seconds of pure torture. He knelt beside his sub again as soon as time allowed it. One shaking hand gripped onto clammy fingers like a lifeline while the other scrolled through his contacts.

Four tries and one string of expletives later, his thumb successfully initiated a call to _Dadam._

_Pick up, pick up, pick the fuck up, oh my fucking God, Adam, pick up._

“Hey, Keith,” a relaxed voice answered. Then, when Adam inevitably heard his shaky, near-tears breath, a much more serious: “Keith, what’s wrong? Are you hurt? Talk to me, son.”

“No.” Keith choked on the word and squeezed a limp, unresponsive hand to ground himself. “No, _fuck,_ it’s Lance. It’s Lance. He’s really fucking sick. He passed out on the floor while I was in the shower and he’s burning up and it sounds like he can barely breathe and I can’t get him to wake up and I don’t know what the fuck to _do-_ ”

“Keith! Keith, slow down. Deep breaths. Everything is going to be alright.” Adam took a deep breath of his own. Keith somehow doubted it was for demonstrative purposes. “Now – are you sure you can’t wake him up?”

“I’m pretty fucking sure.”

“Have you pinched him?”

Pinch him. _Pinch him,_ of fucking course. That was how he roused Lance from subspace in dire situations. Who was to say it couldn’t work on another form of unconsciousness?

“Where?” Keith asked, voice cracking.

“His neck. I know, I know – it sounds painful. It _is_ painful. That’s the point. Just pinch the side of his neck, hard, and tell me if there’s a response.”

Keith reluctantly dropped his mate’s hand to the floor and obeyed, grimacing at the force applied – and choked on a laugh of pure relief.

Lance whimpered. His eyebrows drew tighter and his lips trembled. He threw his head weakly to the side, no doubt in an attempt to escape the unpleasant stimuli. “ _Mm._ S... _stop_...noooo...”

“Lance,” Keith gasped. The offending hand flew to cup a burning face. “Baby boy, I need you to wake up, okay? Open your eyes, beautiful.”

“Is he stirring?” Adam asked anxiously.

“Yeah. _Fuck,_ oh my God. Yeah, he’s waking up now. Lance, sweetheart, come on. Let me see those pretty eyes.”

The sub’s lashes fluttered, and for one heart-sinking moment, Keith feared they would freeze shut again.

They didn’t. Ocean blue orbs, clouded from fever and disorientation, peered up at him. Keith couldn’t help but crack a genuine smile.

“There they are,” he whispered, thumb stroking Lance’s cheekbone. “There’s my beautiful boy. Good job, Lance. Good boy.”

His smile fell as quickly as it had arrived. Realization and recognition dawned on Lance, and his eyes glistened, chin wobbling. The tears were rolling within seconds.

“K- _Keith,_ ” Lance said through a sob. His shoulders shook with a shiver and his teeth chattered. “P...please. I’m...’m not...”

“I know, Lance.” Keith clenched his jaw as the sick boy released a weak moan of pain. “I’m here, sweetheart. You’re gonna be just fine-”

“Keith?” Adam’s terse voice cut in, and Keith jumped. He’d honestly forgotten the phone was even at his ear. “Is he awake now?”

“Kind of? His eyes are open. He’s talking. Doesn’t seem very lucid, though. Should I call an ambulance?”

Adam paused. “That depends. Do you think you can safely drive him to the E.R.?”

There was a second, unspoken layer to the question. _Are you emotional enough that you’ll get distracted and create two or more patients rather than one?_

“Yes,” Keith said firmly. “I can drive.”

In reality, his ability to operate a motor vehicle in his current state was questionable – but if it was an option on the table, he’d take it. No doubt the lights and sirens of an ambulance would terrify his highly disoriented sub.

“Keith,” Lance whimpered as if on cue.

Keith wiped at the actively flowing stream of tears on his mate’s face. “ _Shh._ I’m here, sweetheart. I’m gonna have to take you to a doctor. You’re really sick, and they can make all that pain go away for you. Do you think you can work with me to get to the car?”

Lance stared at him. Blinked. Then he nodded, slowly, like he wasn’t quite sure what he was agreeing to. “Y...yessir.”

“Okay. Alright...Adam?”

“I’m here,” Adam said quietly. “Son, just...be _very_ careful, please. I’ll meet you at the hospital.”

“Yeah. Thanks, Adam.”

“Be careful,” he repeated, and Keith breathed into the phone for a few seconds until the line went dead.

A horribly ill sub, relying on him for his actual, literal life. A car at least a quarter of a mile’s walking distance away.

Two flights of stairs.

How hard could it be?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *narrator voice*
> 
> it was, in fact, really fucking hard.


	119. hanging over my head (and it ain't coming down)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance was floating.
> 
> Or – was he? Maybe. It was hard to tell. On one hand, he certainly wasn’t moving of his own accord.
> 
> On the other, his feet scuffled and scraped against concrete, and a familiar voice near his head swore continuously. That frequent drop-jolt movement wasn’t very graceful, either. If he was floating, he was doing a really sucky job.

Lance was floating.

Or – was he? Maybe. It was hard to tell. On one hand, he certainly wasn’t moving of his own accord.

On the other, his feet scuffled and scraped against concrete, and a familiar voice near his head swore continuously. That frequent drop-jolt movement wasn’t very graceful, either. If he was floating, he was doing a really sucky job.

“Almost there, sweetheart.” _Keith._ Clench-jawed. He spoke with a forced calm. “You’re doing good, Lance. Come on. We’re almost there.”

Memories flooded back. A mere handful of them, all blurred with pain and exhaustion, but enough for Lance to see the bigger picture.

Enough for him to whimper beneath his breath, pry heavy eyes open, and begin to cry.

With his vision reinstated, the whole ‘floating’ situation became clear. He wasn’t floating – Keith was _dragging_ him, an arm around his waist to hold him steady. That drop-jolt every five seconds was his full bodyweight hauled down another step on the dorm building staircase. Keith grunted quietly each time, mouth curled with a grimace of effort.

What a lovely week for the elevators to be broken. Seriously. _Impeccable_ timing. Thank you, sadistic cosmic deity.

“Keith,” he whispered, and another round of tears rolled down his face. “ _Keith._ Please.”

What was he begging for? He wasn’t sure. Keith had already said he was taking him to see a doctor. The Dom couldn’t do much else. He couldn’t magically transport them to an urgent care clinic with a snap of his fingers.

...could he?

Lance had no recollection of being set down and buckled into the passenger seat of their car. No recollection of Keith starting the engine or driving off the U.A.A. campus and onto the main road.

Yet, he blinked, and there they were. 

Tires rumbled beneath them. His head jostled listlessly against the seat, and Keith murmured platitudes that carried the intention of comfort.

“It’s alright, Lance,” his mate said. A strong hand enveloped his own. “You’re okay. You’re just sick. I’m gonna bring you to some doctors, and they’ll fix you right up, hm?”

“’Kay,” Lance croaked. Street lights and headlights from passing cars blurred around him for the few seconds he tried to open his eyes. How long had they been driving? “Keith. How l’ng?”

“Five minutes, sweetheart. We’re almost there. Just a few more minutes.”

Not exactly the question he’d meant to ask, but a useful answer nonetheless. Lance sighed and offered a weak squeeze of his Dom’s hand as sleep called him back to its depths. “’Kay.”

Five minutes. Since when was that the equivalent of five seconds? Lance was startled back into awareness as the car pulled to a halt. The engine shuddered and stopped. He heard the driver’s door open, and the car’s automatic interior lights shone against his closed eyelids.

Another door clicked. Humid night air brushed his skin. One hand cupped his face while the other unbuckled his seatbelt.

“Lance?” Keith said. “You need to wake up now, sweetheart. We’re at the hospital.”

The – 

The hospital?

_Hospital._

His eyes were wide open in an instant. His lips wobbled, and Keith’s alarmed expression swam above him as a fresh wave of tears began to spill. Lance struggled against the hands that moved to grip his waist. 

“ _Nooo._ ” His heart pounded, breath harsh with panic, and his thoughts raced. _Don’t make me see him don’t make me see him don’t make me please please please._ “P-please, Keith, _please._ Don’ make me...don’ m-make me...”

“ _Shh,_ sweet boy, _shh._ I’m sorry, Lance. I know hospitals aren’t fun. Believe me, I know. But you need to see a doctor, okay? You’re very, very sick, and you need a lot of shit I just can’t give you.”

Lance choked on a sob as he stared at his Dom, eyes wide and wet. Trembling fingers clawed at the front of Keith’s shirt. 

“’M sorry. Dunno what I did. ‘M _so_ sorry.”

Keith frowned. “What are you talking about?”

“Am I bein’ punished?”


	120. where do i go? give me some sort of sign

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Am I bein’ punished?” 
> 
> If anybody happened to have a time-reverse button, and would be willing to send a mugger into the E.R. parking lot to stab him through the heart before those words could be uttered, let the record show Keith was very interested.

“Am I bein’ punished?”

If anybody happened to have a time-reverse button, and would be willing to send a mugger into the E.R. parking lot to stab him through the heart before those words could be uttered, let the record show Keith was _very_ interested. 

His sub stared at him with cloudy, barely-there eyes – but still, they were wide with fear and regret. Lance’s face was horribly flushed, and the sickly red was accompanied by tear tracks. Keith rubbed hands up and down his sides in what he hoped was a soothing gesture.

“Wha – of _course_ this isn’t a punishment.” He sputtered and stumbled over the words. Honestly, he kind of wanted to cry himself. “Sweetheart, you need help. A walk-in night clinic isn’t going to cut it. I have to take you into the hospital, but you are _not_ in trouble. You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I lied.” Lance sniffled and slowly blinked doleful eyes up at him. “I did feel sick this mornin’ and I said I didn’. I _lied._ ”

Keith closed his eyes just long enough to take one of those count-y breaths (they did help sometimes). Then he leaned in to press a long kiss to Lance’s forehead while he strengthened his inner resolve. _Don’t cry. He needs you to be strong right now. Don’t fucking cry._

“We can talk about that later,” he said, low and warm against his sub’s ear. Lance’s head moved against his in a hesitant nod. “Right now, I’m not angry. Okay? I promise. I’m just worried about you. Can we please go inside now?”

A long silence ensued. Long enough that Keith began to fear Lance had lost consciousness again, and pulled back to check.

No. His eyes were still wide and leaking droplets of saltwater.

Lance shook his head. “No. _No._ C-can’t. I can’-”

Keith redug his fingers into the sub’s waist as tight as he could without causing pain. Just as he’d feared, his dazed mate struggled against him again, only this time with a fervor he would have thought impossible for someone so sick. Keith might have been impressed if the way Lance swayed and threatened to topple out of his seat wasn’t about to send him into cardiac arrest. 

“Lance!” Keith spoke with more volume and force than he’d intended. It spiked guilt in his chest – but at least it provided a more desirable outcome. 

Lance froze. His muscles stiffened for two seconds before he surrendered and fell forward onto Keith, boiling forehead nearly hot enough to burn the Dom’s shoulder.

“Please.” One last try. And, _fuck,_ if it didn’t hurt like hell to hear his confused, unwell sub beg and have to tell him _no._ “Keith. I l-love you. Please.”

“I love you, too, beautiful. _So_ much. That’s why you have to go in here with me.”

Lance _wailed._

His sobs were hoarse and ended in harsh coughs, but God al-fucking-mighty, they were far from weak. He thrashed in defiance and cried incoherent pleas as the other tried – keyword, _tried_ – to drag him from the car. 

Keith blinked rapidly against the sheen that covered his eyes. He grit his teeth.

“I know,” he said with all the calm he could muster, though he was pretty fucking sure his heart was about to shrivel up and die. Lance could hardly hear him over his own panicked bawling. Keith spoke, anyway. The reassurance was partially for himself. “I know you think I’m being cruel right now. I know you’re scared. I’m so sorry, sweetheart. This will all make sense when you’re feeling better, I promise.” 

_If you even remember this._

Fists pounded on his chest, feet kicked his shins, and a head lolled against his shoulder. They were all weak. The sting Keith felt from them was not physical. 

A pair of headlights turned into the parking lot. Moments later, a door slammed shut. Keith was _this_ close to caving and allowing his sub, only halfway out of the car and fighting as if his life depended on it, to sink back into his seat. It would kill him to call medical personnel out and allow them to manhandle Lance onto a stretcher or into a wheelchair. It would kill him to stand idly by and watch his lifemate panic, but Lance _needed_ to be inside that E.R. If that was what it took – 

“Need some help?”

_Adam._

Adam, their holy savior, lord of consciousness, had returned to save the day. _Hallelujah; blessed be the name of Adam. Amen!_

“Oh, thank _fuck,_ ” Keith breathed in relief as his father placed one hand on his son’s back, the other on Lance’s squirming shoulder. Lance shied away from the touch and released a particularly loud sob. 

Tears – of guilt, worry, relief, maybe all three, who fucking knew – welled in his eyes. Keith didn’t bother trying to blink them away. At this point, they seemed appropriate. One slipped past his lower lashes to roll down his cheek, and he took a shuddering breath.

“It’s okay,” Adam said, loud but sweet, trying to be heard over the sub’s distress. Whether he was trying to comfort him or Lance, Keith had no idea, and frankly, he didn’t care. He was comforted by it regardless. “Everything’s alright now. Why don’t I help you two inside?”

Inevitably, Lance’s limited strength began to wane. He was forced to abandon his attempts at escape. Even as out of it as he was, he was smart enough that he’d surely realized by now the futility of it.

He all but went still, torso pressed against Keith’s, just barely perched on the edge of the passenger seat. Lance made a quieter, softer noise of protest as he lifted his head from Keith’s shoulder and peered at Adam. 

“Don’t w-wanna.” The sub hiccupped, breaths hitched. “Please. Don’ make me.”

Adam sighed. Keith stared at his father, at the older Dom’s pinched brows and thoughtfully pursed lips, unable to keep the desperate hope from his voice as he asked, “What do we do?”

The answer made him wish he’d kept his damn mouth shut.

“Step aside. Let me have him. _Trust me,_ ” Adam stressed when Keith fixed him with a heated, distrustful glare. “You know I won’t hurt him. Just – here – let me take him-”

With reluctance, Keith helped Adam maneuver Lance to lean against his own chest. The man wrapped steady arms around his son-in-law’s shoulders, rubbed his back, and made quiet shushing sounds. It would be a lie if Keith said it didn’t hurt like fucking hell to watch his sub relax in another Dom’s embrace.

But at least he was calm again. That in and of itself was nothing short of miraculous.

“ _Shh._ Talk to me, Lance.” Adam kept his voice a whisper and raised one hand to card through the boy’s hair. “What don’t you want to do?”

“Don’t m- _make_ me.” Lance whimpered as he nuzzled into Adam’s chest. 

“We’re only trying to help. What don’t you want us to make you do? See a doctor?”

“Nuh-uh.” A sniffle; a quiet sob. “Not...no. ‘S fine.”

“Then what? _Shh._ Please, son. Tell me what you’re frightened of. Let me help.”

“Don’...don’t wanna s-see... _him._ Please. Dunno what I did wrong. Don’ make me see him. _Don’t._ ”

Realization hit Keith like a tidal wave. He gripped the car door for support. 

“Alexander,” he said numbly. “You don’t want to see Alexander. You think I’m going to punish you, for lying about being sick...by forcing you to see him. God. _Fuck._ ”

Another sob. Lance nodded frantically against Adam. “Please. ‘M sorry. Don’t make me. I don’ _want_ to.”

The look on Adam’s face was one of existential exhaustion. Keith hardly blamed him. He hadn’t exactly signed up for this shit.

“Oh, _son_...” Adam, in a display of affection that was rare for him, pressed a kiss to the crown of Lance’s head. “Of course we won’t make you see your father, love. Of course not. Hey, Lance, listen – the oncology ward is all the way on the other end of hospital, in the east wing, and it’s several floors above the E.R. There is _zero_ chance you’ll be seeing Alexander tonight.”

Lance took several deep, stuttered breaths. “P-promise?”

“Swear on my life, love. We’d never do that to you, would we?”

“No. No. L-love me.”

“That’s absolutely right, Lance. We both love you very, very much. We only brought you here to help you feel better.”

“...y-yeah.”

Keith gulped. A second tear traversed down his cheek. He scrubbed it away furiously. “Alright, sweetheart. Can we take you inside now?”

“’Kay. No ‘zander.”

“No Alexander,” Adam confirmed. “Only if you want to, when you’re feeling better. Not tonight.”

Lance nodded. Two misty eyes peered over Adam’s shoulder to lock longingly onto his Dom’s. Keith’s heart fluttered violently against his ribcage.

“Want K-Keith,” he whined, reaching a weak hand toward him. “Wanna walk w’th h’m. Please?”

Any envy or hurt Keith might have felt over Lance’s willingness to be held by another man dissipated in an instant. He fish-mouthed. Adam saw his struggle for words and took the duty to respond upon himself. A holy savior in all respects.

“You absolutely can,” Adam said warmly. He looked at Keith with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. “I’m sure Keith wants to walk with you just as badly.

With no shortness of difficulty, Lance was lowered the rest of the way out of the car. He swayed in place. When he tipped toward Keith, fingers opening and closing in grabby motions, Adam let him go.

“I’ve got you,” Keith whispered. He nuzzled into the hairline just above his sub’s ear. “You’re safe with me. I’ve got you.”

“No ‘zander.”

“That’s right, sweetheart. No ‘zander.”

Keith had been through a lot of shit thus far in his life. He’d been abused by too many hands to count – hands that belonged to human-esque creatures he hesitated to call _people._ As a child, he’d made far too many late-night prayers to a God he just barely believed in, instilling enough requests for death to his abusers that God must have thought he’d left a few fucking screws loose in this one, _oops._

After all those people, all that hatred, one man far surpassed the rest.

Keith had never wanted a human being to fucking die more than Alexander McClain.


	121. if you hit me with lightning, maybe i'll come alive

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Not a fucking chance,” Keith snarled venomously at some poor nurse or doctor, and Lance had no strength to show his disapproval. “He’s not going anywhere without me.”
> 
> Oh. Okay. Nevermind, then; scratch the disapproval. He very much approved this message. If they were going to haul him back into a curtained room to poke and prod while he just lay there, in no shape to protest anything, Keith was sure as hell going to be by his side the whole time.
> 
> Or not.

“...go ahead and bring him back...”

“...any...or vomiting?”

“...have a seat...let you know how he’s...”

The arm around his waist tightened almost to the point of bruising. Lance had no complaints; it felt like _safety._ He nuzzled closed eyes against a familiar shoulder.

“Not a fucking chance,” Keith snarled venomously at some poor nurse or doctor, and Lance had no strength to show his disapproval. “He’s not going anywhere without me.”

 _Oh._ Okay. Nevermind, then; scratch the disapproval. He very much approved this message. If they were going to haul him back into a curtained room to poke and prod while he just lay there, in no shape to protest anything, Keith was sure as hell going to be by his side the whole time.

Or not.

“It’s hospital policy, Keith.” _Adam! Whose side are you on?!_ “Believe me, I know hard this is. I’ve been there. But you’re going to have to stay out here and let them do their job.”

“Adam – I _can’t_.”

Panic crept into Keith’s voice, and Lance felt his own heart begin to pound in response. _He can’t. Don’t you understand? He can’t. I can’t. We can’t do this alone._

Adam’s voice contained all the empathy Lance was praying for, but none of the agreement. “Son. I know this hurts like hell. I _know_ it does – but think about how terrible Lance feels right now. Think about the pain your sub is in. We can’t stop them from helping, not when we struggled so hard to get him through the doors so they could do exactly that.”

“But... _fuck_.”

“It’s not fair to him, Keith. He deserves to feel better. Just let him go.”

There was a long, tense silence, and for a moment, Lance really thought with all his heart that Keith was going to fight for him. Fight for their right not to be separated.

Then the arm around his waist slipped away. Four rubber hands gripped him, exceedingly gentle, but their touches might as well have been flames.

“Yeah,” Keith whispered. He sounded near tears – or perhaps he was already crying. “I...yeah. Okay. Lance? Sweetheart, I’ll see you again really soon, alright?”

_Nonononono!_

Lance gasped, and his eyes flew open. A pathetic attempt to pull away from the two unfamiliar faces before him earned nothing but sympathetic little sounds.

“Oh, honey, _shh_ ,” one cooed. “You poor boy. Heidi, look – his eyes are the same color as my son’s! Kiddo, _shh._ We’re here to help.”

“It’s alright, buddy,” said the other – Heidi, apparently. “You’ll love Doctor Vianelli, he’s great. We’re going to help you feel better. Would you like to lie down? I bet you’re exhausted.”

Nobody waited for his response. They might as well not have asked at all.

He was carefully, kindly pulled toward a waiting stretcher. ‘Heidi’ tried to encourage him into sitting, and Lance felt a sudden pang of regret for throwing what was essentially a tantrum in the parking lot. If he hadn’t, he might have been left with the energy now to do more than just whimper and cry.

Nurses had to be used to resistance from disoriented or intoxicated patients, he realized. His tugs and head shakes and murmured _no_ ’s did nothing to discourage the pair. He was hefted a few inches onto the stretcher’s edge. One hand on his chest and the other cradling the back of his head, cooing-nurse slowly lowered him to lie flat.

“ _Keith_ ,” Lance croaked. His hoarse voice had little power left for volume, but at least his desperation and terror rang clear. “ _Nooo_. P-please. Don’ leave me. Love you. _Don’t leave me_.”

Keith came into view. He leaned over the stretcher, eyed red but dry, and carded fingers through his mate’s hair.

“I’m so sorry,” Keith whispered sorrowfully. “I love you _so_ goddamn much. Just do what the doctor says, alright? I’ll see you as soon as I can.”

“You’re very brave, Lance,” Adam chipped in, somewhere out of view. “You’ll feel better if you let them help. I promise.”

“That you will,” Nurse One cooed, and before Lance could find enough voice to return Keith’s declaration of love – an absolutely _vital_ task – the stretcher began to roll.

Lance openly sobbed as ceiling lights passed overhead and doors clicked shut behind them. The noise of the waiting room disappeared. Nurse Heidi gave him a bittersweet smile.

“I know, kid. This feels pretty sucky right now. Just grit your teeth and we’ll get through it together, okay?” She held out a hand. “Wanna squeeze my hand? If you’re in pain, it might help.”

Lance batted her fingers away. “ _Nuh._ ”

She retracted her hand without complaint. “Understandable. You probably want to punch me in the face right about now.”

Accurate.

“Don’... _want_ you,” he wheezed, and coughed hard enough to arch his back off the stretcher. “Keith. I wan’ Keith, _please._ ”

“Oh, Heidi...” overly sentimental, mother-of-blue-eyed-child nurse gazed mournfully at her coworker. “This poor boy is miserable. Look at him – he _hates_ this.”

Heidi sighed and set her eyes forward. “You and me both, kid.”

Sleep was the very last thing Lance wanted in that moment. These people seemed nice enough, but he didn’t know them. Who was to say he was in safe hands?

Nevertheless, his eyes did begin to slip, chest full of despair and a stream of exhausted protests rolling off his tongue all the while.

“There you go, honey, that’s a good idea. Just sleep through it. You’re safe here.”

It was not a good idea. It was a terrible idea. But sleep, Lance did. His body gave him no say in the matter.

Behind his eyelids, the face of his father waited, patient, prepared to make his sleep an unfit one. Lance choked out one last plea before he lost his grip on the waking world.

“ _Keith._ ”

Keith couldn’t hear him, though.

He was starting to wonder if anyone ever could.


	122. (hard times) gonna make you wonder why you even try

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It absolutely baffled Keith, how Adam seemed so calm. His posture was relaxed, and he spoke with ease, like the lump living at the back of Keith’s throat was a stranger to him. Nothing about the situation gave Keith reason to be patient and polite.
> 
> But, then, it wasn’t Adam’s lifemate who’d been pulled away, sobbing and reaching for him the whole time, whispering his name like a prayer.
> 
> It was his.

A paper cup appeared beneath his nose.

“Vending machine coffee?”

Keith lifted his head. He gave his father a blank stare. “No, thanks.”

Adam settled back into his seat with a sigh. He took one whiff of the steam curling from the cup, then wrinkled his nose in disgust. The coffee was abandoned on a magazine-strewn end table.

“Yes. That’s a ‘no, thanks’ from me, too.”

It absolutely baffled Keith, how Adam seemed so _calm_. His posture was relaxed, and he spoke with ease, like the lump living at the back of Keith’s throat was a stranger to him. Nothing about the situation gave Keith reason to be patient and polite.

But, then, it wasn’t Adam’s lifemate who’d been pulled away, sobbing and reaching for him the whole time, whispering his name like a prayer.

It was his.

“Fuck.” Keith dropped his head into his hands and tugged at his hair. “Do you think he’s okay? He’s been back there for a while. It shouldn’t take this long, should it?”

“Well, these things take time, son.” Adam spoke in a low and soothing way. Keith did not feel soothed. “They can’t snap their fingers and heal him with the power of friendship. Likely the first thing they did was give him IV fluids and something to bring the fever down. Then they’d have to take some blood samples and mouth swabs, make sure he doesn’t have anything like strep...honestly, I wouldn’t be surprised if they decided to admit him for the night.”

“ _God_. Are you serious?”

Keith’s head shot up. He stared at his father with wide, probably somewhat crazed eyes. Adam blinked back at him.

“Well, yes,” he said slowly. “What did you expect?”

“I have no fucking idea. This shit isn’t exactly in my comfort zone.”

Adam’s face morphed rapidly from confusion to a sad understanding. Keith watched the transformation for half a second before turning away.

It was bad enough that his sub, who was meant to regard him as an impenetrable fortress, knew hospitals freaked him the hell out. Adam didn’t need to be privy to that little detail, too. Personal phobias were hardly public information. Or, at least, they _shouldn’t_ have been. 

Just another rule of life that apparently didn’t apply to him. Fucking fantastic. What else was new?

“Do you need to step outside for a minute?” Adam asked, which was stupid. He had to know the answer. “I can call you if there’s any update. Some fresh air might do you good – settle your nerves a bit.”

“I’m not leaving.”

“Alright, okay. That’s fine. It was only a suggestion.”

Keith grit his teeth. Adam held his hands up in surrender, like he thought his son might go apeshit and bloodthirsty at the slightest provocation.

Not too big of a leap, if you looked at his history – but, fuck, he needed _somewhere_ to release all that pain and anger. The only other option was to internalize everything and combust.

Combustion looked more appealing by the day, honestly.

“I really fucking hate hospitals,” Keith conceded with a clenched jaw. “They freak me out. Make me get all panicky and shit.”

“Completely understandable.”

“It’s really not.”

Adam rubbed his back in slow, circular motions. “It really is. You went through hell in a hospital – in _this_ hospital. That would scar anyone.”

“Yeah.” Keith took a deep breath that rattled. Emotions welled in his throat and threatened to spill from his eyes. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Keith. Lance is going to be just fine. You know that, right?”

“Sure.”

“People go to the E.R. for high fevers every day. Give it a week, and he’ll be right back to his normal self.”

“Uh-huh.”

The hand left his back. Adam heaved a loud sigh. They both knew his attempts to comfort, while kind, were futile. Nothing could comfort him but seeing his sub with his own eyes, alive and well, preferably wearing a smile.

“Patience, son,” Adam said quietly. “You’ll see him soon.”

“Sorry.” Keith stared at the floor and cleared his throat. “For, you know...being so difficult. I know you’re just trying to help.”

“These hard times are going to pass, Keith, I _promise_ you. No storm lasts forever.”

Like a switch being flipped, the waterworks that had been on stand-by were activated. He scrubbed furiously at his eyes as his vision blurred. “Fuck. Don’t say shit like that.”

“It’s alright if you need to cry.”

“I don’t.”

“Okay.”

Father and son lapsed into silence. Keith knew Adam kept his mouth shut purely to give the younger Dom a chance to collect himself. Which was embarrassing, the fact that he was so transparent. That Adam damn well _knew_ he was embarrassed by his own emotions.

But there was a deep comfort alongside the embarrassment. Comfort that stemmed from being fully known – flaws, quirks, and all – and fully loved in spite of it.

“I just want him to be happy, you know?” Keith said once he had a reasonable grip on himself. “I want to be happy _with_ him. And it just feels like that’s getting farther away from us every day. Like we’ll never be able to reach it.”

“You’ll reach it,” Adam said. “You will.”

Believing that wasn’t easy. It was probably one of the hardest things he’d ever done, but –

Lance deserved it. He did. More than anyone.

For him, Keith would do damn near anything to make that far-off goal of contentedness a reality.

“You’re right,” Keith said. “We will.”

They would.


	123. (hard times) gonna take you down and laugh while you cry

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He looked so fucking small.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there will be two chapters tomorrow, two on friday, and the beginning of a new act on saturday morning!
> 
> enjoy!

He looked so fucking _small._

Keith stepped into the room on jelly legs. Adam remained in the doorway, conversing in hushed tones with Doctor Vianelli, and he picked up bits and pieces of the verdict.

Influenza. Shockingly severe onset. Emotional stress. Inadequate sleep. Inadequate nutrition. Compromised immune system. Dehydration, IV fluids, admitted for the night…

Information overload. He tuned out from the whispered summarization and tuned into the boy lying motionless before him.

Wires wound around Lance’s hands and the bed, not dissimilar to those his father now wore, though there weren’t nearly as many. That beautiful, soft mocha skin he loved so much, now one sickly shade paler than it should have been. An oxygen mask encased chapped lips. _Chapped lips._ Lance would be horrified when he woke to find that his lips were, God almighty forbid, _chapped._

Keith allowed the barest of smiles to light his face at the thought, but even as it curled upward, his mouth trembled. He ran gentle knuckles over Lance’s prone, wire-infested form as he approached with snail-paced steps.

“What’s the mask for?” Keith cut into Adam and Vianelli’s conversation as he sank to his knees beside the bed. “Was his breathing that bad?”

“Oh – no, no,” the doctor said hurriedly. Probably under the mistaken belief that Keith was the type of family member who would burst into tears at a moment’s notice. “Not at all. Actually, his sats have risen dramatically over the past hour or so. The mask is more for his comfort than anything. While he was awake, he complained of some difficulty breathing, though we couldn’t find much solid reason for it. I assumed it was an anxiety response to being hospitalized.”

The hand that was not busy stroking Lance’s cheekbone clenched in Keith’s lap. He fought to keep his jaw from doing the same.

Anxiety response. Difficulty breathing.

A panic attack.

And he _wasn’t there._

“He has a panic disorder,” Keith ground out. “That was more than an ‘anxiety response.’”

The doctor blinked. When he spoke, his tone was saturated by skepticism.

“He’s awfully young to have a panic disorder, and, forgive me if I’m wrong, but he’s hardly been in a soldier’s position. Are you sure you don’t mean generalized anxiety disorder?”

Adam, saintly as ever, stepped in to save the day: “Well, he _has_ been professionally diagnosed with PTSD, so yes. We’re quite certain.”

And, honestly, it was a good thing his father took the reigns. If this doctor hadn’t just saved his sub’s life, Keith would have, undoubtedly and without regret, punched him in the fucking face.

“Oh – well – my apologies. I suppose I shouldn’t have assumed.”

 _You shouldn’t have,_ he wanted to shout. _What the hell do you know about him?_

Keith let their voices fade into the background again. He had no use for the doctor’s stammered apologies or his platitudes about how Lance was _feeling much better._ The only thing in the room he gave more than half a shit about in that moment was Lance himself.

At the very least, Lance rested with genuine content now. Though too pale, his face was smooth and free from the crinkles of pain he’d worn hours before. His chest moved in slow, deep rhythm. He wasn’t out cold in a crumpled heap on their dorm floor.

He was simply sleeping, in a bed, wearing a hospital gown that smelled dryer-fresh when Keith leaned in to kiss his neck, and with crisp white sheets folded down at the waist.

“I love you,” Keith murmured against his temple, mouth moving past relaxed eyebrows to his ear, and finally resting a chaste kiss on his only slightly flushed cheek. “I’m so fucking glad you’re okay, beautiful. You scared the shit out of me.”

Adam and the doctor exchanged some stilted goodbye or another, but he paid them no mind. Keith lay his head on the sub’s chest, one light hand on his waist, and blinked back the tears that pricked at his eyes like a threat.

It felt strange to say _I love you_ and not have Lance return the sentiment with fervor, but Keith couldn’t complain. He was content enough to press an ear to his lover’s ribcage and hear for himself the proof that Lance’s heart monitor was not a liar.

Things could have been so much worse, taken so many more wrong turns, ended so horribly in so many different ways – as far as he was concerned, this outcome was an absolute fucking miracle. Keith didn’t need to hear Lance’s voice to know his love was reciprocated, or see his eyes open to know they could still shine.

Evidence of a beating heart and breathing lungs would be more than enough to get them through the night.


	124. and i still don't know how i even survive (hard times)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A series of steady beep-beep-beep’s was the first thing to breach his consciousness, and for a moment, Lance feared he must have dozed off whilst visiting Alexander, just like his sisters always did – God, what a horrifying idea that was – sleeping, making himself vulnerable with Alexander McClain in the room –
> 
> “Lance? Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

A series of steady _beep-beep-beep_ ’s was the first thing to breach his consciousness, and for a moment, Lance feared he must have dozed off whilst visiting Alexander, just like his sisters always did – _God,_ what a horrifying idea that was – sleeping, making himself vulnerable with Alexander McClain in the room –

“Lance? Can you hear me, sweetheart?”

Fingers trailed down his face, lingered on his lips, then moved to rub firm, soothing circles on his chest. He opened his eyes to find that the beautiful face of his Dom loomed above him.

Beautiful as ever, sure...but also _exhausted._

Keith’s eyes were rimmed red and bloodshot, mullet a disheveled mess atop his head, face even paler than his usual pale (something Lance would have thought to be impossible). Memories of the past twenty-four hours flooded back in an instant. Not one of them was privy to a warm welcome.

“Keith,” Lance breathed – unhindered by an oxygen mask, he realized. They must have removed it while he slept. “Hey – ‘s alright. ‘M okay.”

Keith’s lips curled bitterly, and he released a shaky laugh, fist rubbing at one dry eye.

“You were rushed into the E.R. last night, and you’re trying to comfort _me?_ The fuck, Lance?”

“You look sad.” Lance shrugged, then winced when the movement pulled at his IV wires. “Don’t want you t’be sad.”

“Well, stop worrying about me. Focus on getting yourself better, hm?”

“’Kay.”

“That’s my good boy.”

Despite the chill of the hospital room – or were those shivers the remnants of his fever? – Lance was engulfed by a current of warmth. The praise was accompanied by a sweet melding of tongues. He felt dismayed to discover that, for once, his own lips were not the softer ones.

“That’s not fair,” Lance murmured sleepily against Keith’s mouth when they parted. “M’ lips ‘r’all chapped. You didn’t moisturize ‘em, did you?”

“There were one or two more important things on my mind when we left the dorm than grabbing your chapstick.”

“ _Chapstick?_ I’ve never once used chapstick. Y’ use _balms_ , K’th. What ‘m I, a caveman?”

A more genuine smile lit the Dom’s face. Keith smirked, nose a mere inch from the other’s, and ran fingers through his sub’s bed-mussed hair.

“Stop talking,” he commanded, tapping his thumb a couple times against Lance’s lower lip. “You’re not very good at it right now.”

“’M on meds ‘n stuff, ‘course ‘m not-”

“ _Shh._ ”

Had the interruption been left at that, Lance might have taken offense. But the way Keith wrapped arms around his waist, leaned in, and nuzzled one side of that raggedy old mullet into his stomach –

He couldn’t protest being shut up in return for such a sweet gesture. In fact, with Keith cuddled up to him like that, entirely of his own accord rather than to appease a request from his sub, Lance was more than content to _shush_.

There was one matter that had to be addressed first, though.

“Love you,” Lance mumbled, eyes fluttering against his will. “Didn’t g’tteh say back it last night. Love you, too.”

“I know you do.” The whisper was almost inaudible, muffled into his hospital gown, but Lance caught it. “I know, sweetheart. Go back to sleep now. You’re exhausted.”

Didn’t have to tell him twice.


	125. tell my friends i'm coming down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There was one thing he did know: regardless of what fastball came hurtling toward them next, aiming to knock their fucking teeth out, they would face it together. The outcomes were variables, but this detail was a constant.
> 
> Them. Keith and Lance. Lance and Keith. Together.

The drive home was silent.

Not that Keith minded all that much. He definitely didn’t. Silence was a refreshing change from the whimpers, groans, and mumbled phrases of his sub that had filled their car the night previous. The sight of Lance sound asleep with a neutral expression, too, was a relief, and Keith found himself glancing away from the road perhaps a little too often just to catch a glimpse of him. Just to remind himself that the crisis had passed. Bullet: dodged. Enemy vanquished.

 _This_ crisis. This bullet. This enemy.

But what about the many others that would undoubtedly find them? Would they be defeated?

Fuck if he knew.

There was one thing he did know: regardless of what fastball came hurtling toward them next, aiming to knock their fucking teeth out, they would face it together. The outcomes were variables, but this detail was a constant.

Them. Keith and Lance. Lance and Keith. _Together._

Keith smiled to himself as he did something he could tell Lance only pretended to hate – one hand left the steering wheel, gripped his sub’s across the console, and squeezed it tight.

“I love you,” he whispered, not because he thought Lance might somehow hear it through his deep sleep, but mostly because he felt an urgent need to verbalize the emotion. “I’ll never give up on us. I fucking swear, I won’t.”

Keith was getting used to this, not necessarily needing to hear Lance’s reciprocation to know he did, in fact, reciprocate.

His lifemate’s presence – his determination to stick around and tough it out, no matter how many times Keith screwed up, no matter how badly he _was_ screwed up –

That was proof enough.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *cue paramore's 'proof' playing in the background*
> 
> me: *loud sobbing*


	126. we'll kick it when i hit the ground

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance couldn’t deny that, as much as regular grogginess sucked, it sucked a hell of a lot less than sick grogginess.
> 
> To be fair, some of this was likely still the coffee-ground dregs of sick grogginess sticking around in the bottom of his brain cup. Such was evidenced by the sucky analogies he was spitting out. Sucky analogies like brain cup.
> 
> God, he was tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is a long one!
> 
> it's also the second to last chapter of act 8 - act 9 begins tomorrow morning!
> 
> enjoy!

Lance couldn’t deny that, as much as regular grogginess sucked, it sucked a _hell_ of a lot less than sick grogginess.

To be fair, some of this was likely still the coffee-ground dregs of sick grogginess sticking around in the bottom of his brain cup. Such was evidenced by the sucky analogies he was spitting out. Sucky analogies like _brain cup._

God, he was tired.

“At least you can walk this time,” Keith said with a grim smile as he jostled his key in their finicky door lock. “Carrying you around was the fucking worst. You’re damn heavy.”

Lance, a solid few paces behind, tried to shoot his Dom a glare as he shuffled up beside him. Keyword being ‘tried’. His play-angry pout was interrupted by a yawn.

“I’m not heavy.” Lance blinked at the mid-morning sun, swayed, and laid a heavy elbow on Keith’s shoulder for support. “You’re just really short. And your muscles are all for show. I’m convinced you contour them on every morning before I wake up.”

“The fuck is a contour?”

Lance sighed and waved a vague hand. “Nevermind.”

Later: explain to Keith the magic of contour. Which the sub _certainly_ didn’t use on himself to accentuate his features for special events where photographs were an expectation. Events such as, oh, let’s say, one’s high school graduation. No, sir, those cheekbones were _au naturale_...most of the time.

(Also maybe later: explain to his Dom the kindergarten-level science of height, weight, and gravity.)

Now: _sleep._

Could Keith really not read his mind? It sure felt like he could when he closed the door, wrapped Lance up in a gentle embrace, and murmured against the shell of his ear: “Want me to nap with you?”

“God, yes. I need a thousand naps. A thousand back-to-back naps.”

“That’s called a coma, sweetheart.”

“Coma shcmoma.”

Lance struggled to keep his eyes open. Long lashes fluttered against Keith’s shoulder.

He wouldn’t turn down a _brief_ coma, if anyone was offering. Maybe a week or two. Three, tops.

To miss being hospitalized was a strange concept, but for just a moment, he did. Rather, he missed some aspects of it. Aspects like the fluids his body needed being trickled into his veins by no means of his own while he slept on in oblivious peace.

No such effortless hydration at home. He’d just gotten comfy in bed, donning his favorite pair of silk pajamas, when Keith startled him out of half-sleep by shoving a bottle of water beneath his nose. The cap was already halfway unscrewed.

“Drink,” Keith said.

The sub sniffed, nose turned up. “I could have opened it myself.”

“I know.”

“Well, thanks, but no thanks. I’m not thirsty.”

“I didn’t ask if you felt thirsty. _Drink._ ”

Lance huffed – mostly to keep up a comforting veil of normalcy – but obeyed nonetheless.

His hand shook beneath the weight of the drink. It’d never crossed his mind that the ability to hold a simple, stainless steel water bottle without help was something healthy people took for granted. But, apparently, it was.

That loss of strength must have been one of the symptoms Doctor Vianelli warned could persist for a week or two. Lance had tuned out halfway through the discharge speech and put all his energy into making sure his shoes got on the right feet, trusting Adam and Keith would catch the gist of it for him.

He really didn’t need a laundry list of aches and pains to understand what the doctor meant. It could have been summed up in much fewer words. _You were pretty damn sick. Kind of still are. Gonna feel like shit for a while. Capiche? Cool. Now get out._

That probably went against medical teachings of ‘beside manners,’ but whatever. An influenza-fried brain like his didn’t have the energy to care.

Keith kept a hand on the bottom of the bottle to hold it steady, and Lance gulped greedy mouthfuls of that heavenly concoction they called room temperature water. He lifted his eyes and locked them onto his Dom’s warm brown hues to send a wordless message of gratitude. Keith returned the gaze with a little smile and a nod of acknowledgment, followed by his free hand trailed lightly down the side of Lance’s face. _You’re welcome. I love you._

“Not thirsty?” Keith asked when Lance pulled away from the nearly emptied bottle, gasping a little to regain his breath. The Dom’s smile bloomed into a smirk of triumph. “Sure you weren’t, sweetheart.”

“Shut up. I’m sick. Brainy no worky.”

“Works enough for you to mouth off, brat.”

Lance couldn’t help but crack a smile himself. He knew Keith’s words, like his own huffs and eye rolls, were only an attempt to reinstate their preferred mood of banter and humor. That mood seemed to slip further away from them each day. Any effort to propel them back into their comfort zone, even at his own expense, was one Lance appreciated.

“I’ll never not mouth off to you.” Lance softened that statement with a placating kiss to the cheek once his Dom had set the water aside and slipped into bed beside him. He nudged Keith’s ribs with a weaker elbow than usual. “You can’t tell me I didn’t say _one_ snarky thing while I was all fever-loopy.”

Keith stiffened against him. Those rich brown eyes darkened, flitted away, and landed on the wall above Lance’s head. Said head was soon laid on Keith’s chest, and Lance gulped.

“How much do you remember of what you said?”

“Well...when? During the car ride, the panic attack, or…?”

“After you passed out,” Keith clarified. “Do you remember talking to me? Or to Adam?”

His voice was neutral.

Cautiously neutral. _Suspiciously_ neutral. The kind of neutral that was _so_ neutral, it outed itself as forced.

“Not much,” Lance said slowly. “Why? Did I say something really embarrassing?”

He asked, but he already knew the answer. It wasn’t a _you said something funny and now I have blackmail_ silence that followed his question. This silence read much heavier. Much more sorrowful.

“You...”

Keith winced. Lance couldn’t see it from where he nuzzled his face into the other’s chest, but he felt muscles twitch against the crown of his head, and knew Keith well enough to know what that specific twitch meant.

“What did I say? Babe, you can tell me. It’s alright. Whatever it was, it’s obviously in my brain already.”

“Okay.” A gulp, and another wince. “You didn’t want to...to see Alexander. You thought I was punishing you, because you lied yesterday morning and said you weren’t sick. You thought your punishment was – _fuck._ You thought your punishment was me bringing you to the hospital and forcing you to see the Sperm Donor.”

“...oh.”

“Yeah.”

“That...that really sucks.”

“It did. A lot. That was...”

“Hard to hear. I know.” Lance kissed his neck three times in a triangular pattern. “I’m so sorry, Keith. You know I wouldn’t think like that while I’m healthy, right? I would never think you’d do that. Not in my right mind.”

“I...I know.”

“I _wouldn’t_ , Keith, seriously. Never. You’d never do something like that, and I’d never believe you would. Not for a second.”

“I know, sweetheart. It’s okay now.” Keith took a deep breath. His chest shuddered against the sub’s, and Lance felt a shiver roll down his own spine in response. “Just really sucked in the moment, you know? You were so out of it, we couldn’t explain the situation in a way you’d understand. Couldn’t seem to get it through your head that we were only there to help you feel better.”

“Well, I know that _now._ I know you were just helping me. That counts for something, right?”

“Yeah. It does. I guess.” Unconvinced. A begrudging acceptance. “You should go to sleep now. Doctor dude said you’ll need a lot of rest this week.”

Lance fish-mouthed for a moment, then finally decided on keeping his lips firmly sealed.

_Screw banter and humor! Screw normalcy!_ the universe seemed to shout as it laughed. _Suffer, suffer, suffer!_

_Thanks, universe, I hate it._

The words found him after a long few moments. “Keith. Just...”

Keith soothed fingers through his hair. Yet another piece of life Lance hadn’t realized he so desperately missed. His eyes fluttered, and he nearly forgot to finish his sentence until Keith prompted: “Just?”

“Just remember – he won’t be around forever. Okay? He won’t be able to get in our heads like this for much longer.”

The room grew even tenser. Which didn’t seem like it should have been possible, but there they were.

“You sound pretty cool with that,” Keith said quietly.

Lance inhaled, held it, and exhaled. No counting this time. These words had been bouncing around his brain for too long, restless, begging to be set free, and releasing them did not take strength; releasing them was a _relief_. He didn’t need a therapy-mandated pattern of breath to steel his resolve.

“I’m more than alright with it. I’m...” Lance grit his teeth. “I’m tired of him ruining everything for us. I’m so _sick_ of pretending to care, or trying to force myself to care because people think I should. I’m ready for it to just...be over.”

Keith’s breath caught. “You are?”

“I’m – Keith. I’m gonna say something...bad. Don’t hate me.”

“Not possible.”

“You might.”

“Nothing could ever make me hate you. Just say-”

“I _want_ him to die.”

Instantly, Lance feared he’d ridden the honesty train one stop too far.

Maybe his Dom would find him disgraceful or morally corrupt, to wish such a fate on his own father. It was... _well._ It was a pretty terrible thing to say about another human being. Certainly a very un-sub-like thing to say. An unattractive opinion.

Keith exhaled slowly, then breathed normally again. The fingers frozen in Lance’s hair continued their gentle ministration.

“You and me both, sweetheart.”

And Lance breathed easy, too.

“Okay. That’s – good to know. I’m think I’m gonna take that nap now.”

“Sweet dreams, baby boy.”

Did it make them terrible people to share such a vile thought? A year ago, Lance would have vehemently agreed that it did, it _did._ To wish death on a man, even one already destined to die in the near future, was absolutely twisted.

Now?

Now, Lance looked at the situation from an entirely different angle. Not an objective one, of course – but there really was no objective angle here.

The question – _does it make one a bad person to wish death on bad people?_ – did not have an objective answer, only subjective ones. As many widely varying, biased answers as there were humans alive on the planet.

A stranger off the streets may meet Alexander for five minutes, in all his charm and charisma, and say, _no; let him live._

But Lance knew better. He _knew._

And so did Keith.

With a feather-light conscience, a weakened but healing body, and a full heart, Lance curled close to his lifemate and slept.

He slept damn well.


	127. and i gotta get to rock bottom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The phone didn’t just ring – it rang with a specific, pre-loaded ringtone. One of those strange ringtones most people never used, just so he wouldn’t get excited and mistake someone else’s incoming call for his own.
> 
> A ringtone he’d assigned only to Mama.

His phone rang.

Lance was awake with wide eyes in a nanosecond.

The phone didn’t just _ring_ – it rang with a specific, pre-loaded ringtone. One of those strange ringtones most people never used, just so he wouldn’t get excited and mistake someone else’s incoming call for his own.

A ringtone he’d assigned only to Mama.

Lance entertained a brief struggle with Keith’s vice-like grip around him, pants of exertion and frustrated little growls seeping from between his teeth. For once, he cared nothing for the fact that his Dom was in the midst of a much-deserved rest.

Keith could go back to sleep if he woke.

But Mama was undoubtedly at the hospital, where she almost always was nowadays, and if _Alexander_ woke –

Lance couldn’t call back. He wouldn’t do that to Mama, wouldn’t risk Alexander hearing the vibrations from his sub’s pocket. If he didn’t pick up now, who knew when she’d find a free moment to call again?

Keith didn’t wake. He groaned in unconscious disappointment when Lance finally pried himself free, and his eyelids fluttered, but he snoozed on.

Lance scrambled over his Dom’s sleeping form, fumbled across the nightstand for his phone, and swiped the little green button. The _‘_ _hello?’_ he spat out was breathless.

“ _Mijo?_ ” Mama asked, and Lance fought the urge to physically slap himself for his own carelessness in the rush to pick up.

Her tone was saturated by concern and sprinkled with a pinch of urgency.

Of _course_ she could hear the faint, sickly wheeze to his voice, something most people would never pick up on if they didn’t specifically listen for it. Of course she knew at once that something was wrong with her youngest child. Of course. Why would he have expected anything else?

“Yeah.” Lance cleared his throat. Annoyance welled at his apparent inability to calm his rate of breath. “Yeah, Mama, it’s me. I’m here.”

“What’s wrong, love? And don’t you dare say ‘nothing.’ Why do you sound like that?”

“Sound like what? I’m-”

Mama made a _tsk-tsk_ sound, and his heart sank. _Busted_. 

The idea that he could fool her was an outlandish one to begin with, but at least he could say he’d tried.

“Don’t say it,” she said. A hint of warning was there, and it wasn’t unfamiliar – but it’d been so long since he last heard it that the scolding caught him off guard. “I know you. Something is wrong. Are you... _mijo_ , my baby, are you crying?”

“Wha – _no._ No, Mama, I’m not-”

“It’s alright if you are, love. You can talk to me about it, I’ve got time-”

“I was _not_ crying. Okay? I’m just...feeling a little under the weather. That’s all. No big deal.”

There was a long pause.

Lance closed his eyes and held the phone just far enough away to sigh without being heard.

Thinking he could fool Mama was his first mistake. Admitting to illness was his second. And, arguably, the second was much stupider.

“How long have you been sick?” Mama asked quietly. Lance realized, with a pang of what could have been excitement or apprehension or maybe even both, that she hadn’t started out whispering like she always did on the phone. Not in Alexander’s room, then. “Why didn’t you tell me? I could have made you something healthy to eat. You’re not eating those packaged foods college kids are always scarfing down while you’re sick, are you? That won’t help your body heal-”

“No, Mama. I’m not eating junk food.”

Actually, come to think of it...had he eaten _anything_ since he woke up feeling like shit yesterday morning?

He hadn’t eaten much the day before yesterday, either. Both his appetite and energy levels had mysteriously waned the day he picked his ugly memories all apart for Alexander. He’d put it down to stress and emotion at the time. Only now did those missed red flags reveal themselves as symptoms.

Was he even hungry?

A sharp pang and an audible rumble moved through his belly at the mere thought of food. They shouted a decisive ‘yes.’

“You should come to the house for the weekend. Let your Mama heal you up the _right_ way, so you won’t have to miss school next week. You don’t take weekend classes, do you?”

She set her offer on the table so casually that, for a solid ten seconds, Lance was simply too floored to respond.

After the sideshow-circus the last couple of months had been, Mama invited him back to the house like it was no big deal. Like he shouldn’t have any qualms or worries about once again stepping through those ridiculously luxurious double front doors.

Like his Dom hadn’t taken physical measures to keep Alexander from beating her to a pulp in that very house.

Lance had half a mind to label her nonchalance as delusional.

She was sincere, though. Even through the phone, he could hear the worry in her voice. Mama always was such a worrier.

“Let me...” Lance swallowed thickly. “Let me ask Keith. He’s asleep, but I’ll ask him what he thinks when he wakes up, alright? Can you call me back in a few hours?”

“Of course, _mijo_.” Her relief oozed through his speaker. “Take your time. And tell Keith your Mama would love to feed him, too, if that sweetens the deal.”

“Yeah, yeah, I will. I’ll tell him.”

“I should go back into your Papi’s room now. That sign says no phones, and a nurse is giving me the stink eye – I’ll call this evening, baby, okay? I love you.”

“I love you, too, Mama. Don’t get in trouble with the nurses.”

“I’ll try my best, _mijo_.”

The line went dead, and Lance melted. Tension he hadn’t realized he held drained from his body. He sunk to the floor with his back pressed to the bed, rolled his eyes at the ceiling, and groaned louder than he probably should have.

“ _Shuddup_ ,” Keith murmured into a pillow. “People _sleep_ here, fucker.”

Lance shot back some witty phrase or another. The words left his mind as soon as they left his mouth. An irrelevant detail.

What _was_ relevant was Keith getting back to sleep ASAP, so Lance could have a few hours of reprieve and thought before he had to ask (without technically lying to Mama about ‘asking when he woke up.’)

Of course, it hardly mattered how long he waited to ask. Keith wasn’t going to say _no_. He loved Verita. He loved Verita’s food. And, without the poison of Alexander trickled everywhere, he’d undoubtedly jump at an opportunity to spend two days chilling in a bomb-ass mansion.

Keith, his nerd. Television screens that expanded as far as a television screen could possibly expand, complete with wall-to-wall sound and the most advanced gaming systems money could buy.

Keith, his nerd, and unbelievably high-tech gaming... _combined._

Lance groaned again, this time disregarding Keith's hissed, empty threat.

It was going to be a _very_ long weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> get ready for act 9, fam.
> 
> we have dipped our toes in the pool, and now the time has come to submerge our bodies in rivers of The Angst™
> 
> featuring some childhood flashbacks from our favorite sub. buckle up, friends. you're in for a rough ride...
> 
> ...anyways, sleep well! :)


	128. [IX] staring out into the world across the street

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He couldn’t deny the tightness of apprehension in his chest, which drew taut breaths that were already compromised by illness and made his heart quiver behind its cage of ribs.
> 
> Lance also couldn’t deny this: Mama’s hugs were magic.

**ACT NINE: NO LOVE**

**(chapters 128-145)**

 

* * *

 

 ["No Love" - Simple Plan](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=34fqitVZ_v8)

 

* * *

 

 "The greatest thing a father can do to his children is to love their mother." - Anjaneth Garcia Untalan

 

* * *

 

 

He couldn’t deny the tightness of apprehension in his chest, which drew taut breaths that were already compromised by illness and made his heart quiver behind its cage of ribs.

Lance also couldn’t deny this: Mama’s hugs were _magic._

Undeniably so. And her own special brand of magic, at that. No unicorn horn or chant of _faith, trust, pixie dust_ could compare. He’d known as much since he was small enough to settle in her lap. Mama would bandage skinned knees and palms after he fell from his bike, offer a dose of that magic and squeeze tight to sooth any remaining hurt, then push him out the door with a firm, _ah-ah, I don’t think so! No son of mine gives up that easy! Go, try again!_

Of course, that was – before.

It was with simultaneous rushes of nostalgia and relief that Lance discovered time and wear couldn’t erode his mother’s warmth. 

She opened the door now with a strained smile. He all but fell into her arms – and, all of a sudden, he was five years old again, learning to ride a big boy’s bike after Luis heeded his request and clumsily removed the training wheels. Learning it alone, because Papi was too busy working, and Mama had this weird new rule to not even step on the front porch without him, and Luis and Marco ‘loved him but didn’t want their friends to see and make fun of them for playing with a baby’ and blah, blah, blah…

But Lance _loved_ to learn new things, and so he did. Being such a small person all alone in such a big world would not hinder him from exploration, scary though it sometimes might have been. 

He wasn’t really alone, though. When he forgot to pull the bike brakes in time, or fell out of a tree while pretending to be Katniss in those old _Hunger Games_ movies his brothers loved, or an anthill stakeout took a dramatic turn – Mama was there. 

Mama was there, waiting with her bandages and magic (and even with her shoves back out the door). He might have felt lonely from time to time, playing in a wealthy neighborhood where none of the kids were little like him. With Mama nearby, though, he was never _really_ alone.

That sentiment withstood the test of time and, spectacularly, came out of the storm squeaky-clean as it had been from the start.

Five years old and innocent, or nineteen, traumatized, and perpetually steeped in chaos – it seemed like Mama saw no difference between his five and his nineteen.

And that was, for lack of a better word... _magic._

It really was.

“You two acted like you’ve been apart for years,” Keith said with a raised eyebrow as he clicked the door to their ‘guest suite’ shut and swung both their bags off his shoulders. “What’s up with that?”

Lost in faded memories, Lance bounced childishly on the queen-sized bed, amazed at the utter lack of spring squeak. Of course, he’d slept on God-tier mattresses for the first eighteen years of his life. He just wasn’t accustomed to such luxury anymore. 

At Keith’s words, he paused. Perched on the edge of the bed, his feet didn’t touch the ground. Lance took his bottom lip between his teeth and pretended not to notice the way Keith’s eyes were instantly drawn toward his mouth.

_Like you’ve been apart for years._

Hadn’t they, though? With the metaphorical chains Mama was shackled by, with her words at all times dictated by her Dom’s opinions and emotions, had they really, honestly _talked_ over the past few years? Even when her Dom was not around in person to direct her thoughts, feelings, and speech, the brainwashing he’d inflicted upon her did a good enough job, though some of her true self leaked through now and again.

Alexander was always there. Even when his physical presence was far away, he was, in a sense, _there._ He’d programmed her over the years to make certain of as much, after all. That man hovered over Mama like a pesky gnat that just _refused_ to – well, you know. 

Die.

So no, actually, they hadn’t. He and Mama hadn’t truly _seen_ in each other in years. Not with unbarred honesty. Not with wide-open eyes and hearts on their sleeves.

Not with the real Verita, anyway. Lance gave so few shits about this fake version of his mother, it was actually a shit deficit. Negative shits found.

He was startled out of his thoughts by Keith settling wordlessly on the bed beside him.

“In a way,” Lance said slowly. “I guess...we kind of haven’t. It’s different now that he’s gone.”

Keith opened his mouth, took a breath, and then held it while his eyes flitted over his sub. As if he was trying to gauge Lance’s emotions without sounding like Heigel. _And how does that make you feel?_

“It is?” He asked after a moment’s pause. “How?”

“Walking around this place, knowing he’ll never be back here again. It’s...weird, but in a good way. This feels like the family we should have had all along. The one we deserved. You know – without him around to ruin it.”

Keith nodded, slow and uncertain, like he didn’t quite get it. Lance was surprised to find he was alright with that. Keith didn’t need to get it for it to be real. The feeling was too difficult to word, anyway. 

“I’m glad you feel safe here now. I’m glad you get to be with your family again.”

Safe answer; predictable answer. Lance appreciated the effort nonetheless. He smiled a little as he leaned his head on his Dom’s shoulder.

“I do,” Lance said. “I feel safe.”

Without Alexander there to poison it, he _was_ safe. They all were.

Forgive him if another man’s dying breaths felt like his lungful of fresh air – but they did. Lance couldn’t miss a man who’d given him so little to miss, nor could he bring himself to apologize for it.

So he didn’t.


	129. you hate the way your life turned out to be

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “You remembered the recipe.”
> 
> Mama blinked once, twice, three times. Tired, bloodshot eyes made the gesture look more to Lance like a struggle to stay awake than to process the situation.
> 
> Then, slowly, her lips unfurled. She returned his smile.

“You remembered the recipe.”

It wasn’t a question, so Lance didn’t treat it as one. He only smiled as he chopped the celery and swept it to one end of the cutting board. One and one-fourth cups. His mother would measure it with precision once he finished, right down to the last teaspoon.

Mama blinked once, twice, three times. Tired, bloodshot eyes made the gesture look more to Lance like a struggle to stay awake than to process the situation.

Then, slowly, her lips unfurled. She returned his smile.

“Well, color me impressed,” Mama continued when he didn’t respond. Her tone took on a rare and endearingly playful edge. “With all these genius schools you’ve been going to, I wouldn’t think even your big brain has room to spare for family recipes.”

“Chicken soup is important.” Lance sniffed and lifted his chin high as he finished dicing the last stalk with a flourish. “You might even say it’s good for the soul.”

“I think that saying is ‘chicken soup for the soul,’ _mijo_. And it doesn’t involve real chicken soup.”

He felt his ears heat in a way that had nothing to do with illness, and he grumbled more than said, “Well, why is it two-fifths of the saying, then?”

It was Mama’s turn to flash him a grin. Her wordless baring of teeth was more smug and gloat-y than his had been, because _he_ wasn’t a know-it-all, unlike _some_ people – but whatever.

She was _smiling._

Mama was clearly exhausted, run right down to the very end of her frayed rope, but she could still smile. To Lance, that was all that mattered. He would bear a million blush-ridden losses if it meant he could keep that faint hope alight on her face.

But he couldn’t.

In the silence, Mama’s smile fell even quicker than it had arrived. Lance had plenty more things to say; he chose not to say them. He wanted to help his mother, but a heavy churn in the pit of his stomach gave him the feeling his jokes had surpassed their expiration date. They wouldn’t help her at this point. _He_ couldn’t help her at this point.

Shockingly enough, the guaranteed loss of one’s lifemate looming on the horizon had the power to suck a person dry of happiness and all other good things. Lance didn’t understand, planted as he was in his own shoes, how she mourned for a man like her Dom.

If he took a moment to step into her situation, though, to imagine losing his own Dom – losing _Keith_ –

Just the _thought_ was unbearable. Lance couldn’t stand to stay in the conjured circumstance for more than a second. And he, maybe, understood a little better why Mama looked about one _‘are you alright?’_ away from bursting into tears.

Maybe. A little.

Still an impossible equation, though. God forbid, if Keith went first in their old age and left a wrinkled Lance alone, he would be a mate more than worth mourning. The same could not be said for Alexander.

Lance couldn’t empathize with this particular grief. But, at the very least, he could pretend. For Mama’s sake.

“What’s it like?” He asked softly. “You know – without him here?”

Mama’s lips were pursed as she reached for the celery and began to measure.

“Very quiet,” she said, which Lance didn’t understand. Hadn’t it been just as quiet when Alexander was around? “Very...gloomy.”

He wasn’t sure what else he’d expected her to say, and it was ridiculous that his heart sank like a stone into his stomach at the answer. It should have been obvious she’d miss Alexander’s presence, blind as she was to the toxicity of it. Wishful thinking must have gotten the best of him again.

“Sure.” Lance didn’t mean for that dryness to creep into his tone, but there it was. He couldn’t bring himself to regret it, and now that it was open in the air, he had no interest in retracting the sarcasm. “Sure, super gloomy. We all miss him so much.”

“He’s not gone yet. Don’t speak like he is.”

Something in her voice was biting. Sharp; intended to sting. A mother’s scolding. An indigence rose in his throat, and Lance swallowed it. _Forced_ himself to swallow it, though he wanted for all the world to bite back.

Maybe this weekend get-together hadn’t been such a great idea, after all.


	130. he's pulling up in the driveway, and you don't make a sound

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So tell us about Lance.” 
> 
> Keith blinked at her. Rachel settled belly-down on the loveseat, chin rested on her folded hands, and wiggled to get comfortable, like she was prepared to hear a long story. She asked as if she hadn’t known her brother eighteen years longer than he had. 
> 
> “You literally grew up with him,” Keith said, dry. Veronica, too, stuffed a pillow in her lap and grinned. “What do you expect me to say?” 
> 
> The girls shared a look so sultry, Keith had to fight very hard not to roll his eyes back far enough to blind himself.

“So tell us about Lance.”

Keith blinked at her. Rachel settled belly-down on the loveseat, chin rested on her folded hands, and wiggled to get comfortable, like she was prepared to hear a long story. She asked as if she hadn’t known her brother eighteen years longer than he had.

“You literally grew up with him,” Keith said, dry. Veronica, too, stuffed a pillow in her lap and grinned. “What do you expect me to say?”

The girls shared a look so sultry, Keith had to fight very hard not to roll his eyes back far enough to blind himself.

Alright, then. _Those_ kinds of sisters. The stereotypical rich daughters who pried into their sibling’s love life – maybe even _sex_ life, but holy shit, he wasn’t going there – and would undoubtedly giggle and coo if he said anything even remotely mushy.

“Well, yeah, but you _claimed_ him,” Veronica said in a low voice with a sparkle in her eyes. “He never even dated anyone as a teenager, at least not anyone he told us about. What’s he like as a mate? Does he blush a lot? Is he a cuddly sleeper? He seems like a cuddly sleeper.”

Their interest stemmed from harmless, genuine curiosity, he could tell. Maybe even from embarrassment to ask their brother themselves, what with all the tension they’d been walking through. Still, it was unexpected. He wouldn’t have taken them for the type.

Sucked for them. He really _wasn’t_ that type.

“Sorry, but no,” he said.

Veronica’s shoulders and face drooped in disappointment. “He’s not a cuddly sleeper? Aw, shit. When I said bet, I really meant _bet._ Now I owe Rachel two hundred and fifty bucks.”

Rachel held out a casual hand and moved her fingers in a _gimme-gimme_ motion, like she expected her sister would just so happen to have two hundred and fifty dollars stuffed in her pocket. Veronica reached for the side of her designer jeans – like she really _did_ just so happen to have two hundred and fifty dollars stuffed in her pocket. Of course she did.

Keith grit his teeth and shook his head.

“No – I mean, yes,” he said. “I didn’t mean that he’s not – just that _I’m_ not going to – that I shouldn’t be – _like_ -”

Rachel stared. “Am I getting half a William McKinley or not?”

“Sure you are,” Veronica said. “I’ll gladly give you half of a ripped fiver.”

Why did it surprise him that the children of Alexander McClain would joke easily about ripping a five hundred dollar bill in half? Or that they would refer to a five hundred dollar bill as a simple ‘fiver’? It probably shouldn’t have.

“Goddamn.” Keith winced. “Who carries a shitload of traditional cash around the house?”

“Bored people who like to bet!” Rachel chirped. “Papi says it’s safer than cards, anyway, since people can hide all kinds of credit-stealing chips and things in card machines, and you can’t exactly take the machine apart to check every time you make a purchase. Plus, Mama says getting our chore allowances in cash teaches us responsibility. If we lose it, it’s gone.”

Keith made a point of ignoring her ‘Papi’ comment. And the fact she called herself a bored person while surrounded by a mansion’s worth of the finest entertainment money could buy. And the implication that these twenty-two and twenty year olds still received ‘chore allowance’ rather than being pushed out the door to work for it, like Adam pushed him to mow lawns and clip hedges after graduation. And that their allowance was four hundred and eighty fucking dollars more than his had ever been.

Mostly, he tried insanely fucking hard to ignore the revelation that Alexander was willing to give his children five hundred dollars a week to blow on whatever...but saw little to no value in funding his sub son’s education. Likely because he saw no value in his sub son _having_ a quality education. Likely because the ‘my money, my rules’ greediness was nothing more than an excuse.

There was a lot of shit to ignore. So much that finding a decent addition to the conversation was a chore in itself.

He settled on a joking, “If you don’t wanna give it to her, at least give it to _me_ instead of destroying it, you fucking tree killers.”

Best to keep the mood light, even if his mind swirled with anger. These two hadn’t facilitated his rage. He liked to think he was beginning to see, with the help of Lance, Adam, and Doctor Heigel, the value of reserving negative emotions for those who had invoked them.

It did help. It helped talks like these go smoother. Helped people look at him as if they actually enjoyed his presence rather than meeting him with sidelong, wary glances of distrust. Which, consequently, helped his self-esteem. It helped a fuckton.

The sisters shared another look. This one was less gossipy and more conspirative. They smiled vaguely at one another, then turned to him in unison, expressions absolutely wicked. Veronica shot him a much snarkier grin than she’d given Rachel.

She pulled the ‘fiver’ from her pocket. “Well, I’d love to give this to you, Keith...”

Rachel finished the thought. “...if you’ll answer our questions, of course. Your mental labor should be well-paid.”

Bribery, plain and simple. Keith stared at them, open-mouthed.

“Oh, for _fuck’s_ sake.” He could hardly keep the exasperation from his voice. “Are you serious? We’re seriously doing this.”

Veronica shrugged.

“It’s only an offer,” Rachel said, all false nonchalance. “Nobody’s forcing you to accept. Take it or leave it.”

“You _know_ I can’t leave that.”

“Then don’t,” Veronica said.

And so – Jesus fucking Christ, forgive him – Keith spilled. At least their questions weren’t too invasive. His only comfort in light of his own weakness was that nothing shared would make Lance mad at him for more than an hour if, fuck forbid, he happened to find out about this little sharing session.

“Yes, he’s a cuddly sleeper. But, like – I kind of am, too.” It was a miracle and a blessing that his ears did not heat at that admission. “In a different way, though. He likes being held. I _need_ to hold him. Can’t fall asleep if I don’t at least have an arm around his waist.”

Rachel lit up like a five year old who’d just been told she was going to Disney world. “ _Aw!_ And the blushing?”

“He blushes all the time, over literally fucking everything. Sometimes I make him blush on purpose, just because it’s really goddamn cute. And funny.”

Veronica nodded in agreement and hummed.

“It is,” she said, thoughtfully, as if they were esteemed scientist colleagues discussing some very important study. “I used to fluster him in public on purpose, just because it was hilarious when he sputtered and stuff. Even made Mama laugh.”

 _Even made Mama laugh_. As if their mother’s laughter was not a regular occurrence, and anything that caused it was therefore a spectacular thing to behold. Keith was struck hard by the implication, but, like all the other uncomfortable implications, he painstakingly shoved it aside.

Not the time – and none of his business.

“Yeah.” Short, clipped, to the point. “It is pretty funny.”

“You didn’t answer the first question,” Rachel said. “What’s he like as a mate?”

Now, how to capture all of _that_ in something as meager as words?

“I can’t,” Keith said honestly, shaking his head. “Words don’t do him justice. Fucking _amazing._ Perfect. I can’t even explain how goddamn perfect he is.”

The anticipated cooing commenced, and now Keith’s face _did_ grow warm. He hadn’t meant to be quite so straightforward. Not that big of a deal, though. The more people made aware of the fact that Lance Quinta McClain was the unbeatable messiah of all humanity, the brighter their world, as far as he was concerned.

“Well, thank you, Keith.” Veronica grinned and began to reach the money toward him, then paused and drew back. “Wait – I have one more question. I tried to ask Lance once, but I don’t think he was in the mood.”

Keith shrugged. He’d already whored himself out for the five hundred _ka-chings._ What could one more question hurt?

“Sure,” he said. “What is it?”

“How did you two meet?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PSA: the card info stealing shit is real, but it's usually at gas pumps. people will put little devices on the card thingamabob and steal your info. it happened to me once - but I only had a part time job at the time and only like $50 in my account, and the dumbass literally tried to buy an iPhone X online. so naturally my bank called and was like "uhh hey yo tf's up with this." always pre-pay your gas inside the convenience store, kids.
> 
> OKAY ALSO SO OH MY GOD
> 
> I was trying to figure out what middle name to give lance so I went to this character middle name generator thing right? I go through the first few middle names, they're all kinda meh - but then I get 'quinta.'
> 
> my pasty white ass goes "oooh that sounds Hispanic!!!" and looks it up
> 
> would ya take a gander at what the name 'quinta' means?
> 
> it fucking literally means "born fifth"
> 
> god has smiled down upon me, friends


	131. cause you always learn to hold the things you wanna say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bile rose in Keith’s throat, and his ears rang. He felt an automatic pulse of adrenaline through his veins as the hidden weight of her innocent question slapped him right across the fucking face. His heart raced, but it did not pound; it fluttered, weakened by the impact. 
> 
> “Keep the money,” he said. The words croaked. He cleared his throat, chasing bile back down with a hard swallow. “I can’t answer that."

Bile rose in Keith’s throat, and his ears rang. He felt an automatic pulse of adrenaline through his veins as the hidden weight of her innocent question slapped him right across the fucking face. His heart raced, but it did not pound; it fluttered, weakened by the impact.

“Keep the money,” he said. The words croaked. He cleared his throat, chasing bile back down with a hard swallow. “I can’t answer that. That’s not...”

Keith trailed off with a shake of his head. Memory of Lance sniffling through a brief, light crying session as he told his Dom what Veronica had asked in the coffee shop hit him too late. He should have known what her free add-on would be. He should have fucking _known._

Veronica and Rachel’s faces fell, but they didn’t only fall. Apprehension, concern, and even pinpricks of alarm clouded their eyes.

“That’s not what?” Rachel asked quietly.

Veronica gulped. Her voice shook. “He said the same thing. Like it was too hard to talk about for some reason. I just figured he woke up on the wrong side of the bed that day, that he was grouchy or something, but...”

Without rhyme, reason, or warning, Rachel grew hard and angry – an expression he wouldn’t have thought possible for an agreeable, soft-spoken, skirts-and-glitter type of person such as herself. Two eyes that could have passed as burning lasers locked onto his.

“Did you hurt him?” She snapped, sword-sharp. “If you hurt my little brother, Kogane, I swear to _God_ -”

Keith tried to contain the humorless laugh that bubbled up from his chest, and failed. The sound tasted bitter on his lips.

“No,” he said. “No, I can fucking promise you, I’ve never hurt Lance.”

Both sisters relaxed marginally, but their gazes remained wary, shoulders stiff. The original question still hadn’t been addressed.

An entire fucking briefcase full of William McKinleys couldn’t draw out his answer.

“You’re not going to tell us,” Veronica said. Not a question, but the answer. “Is it...is it that bad?”

“I’m not saying anything. Stop asking. I don’t want the money.”

She handed him the bill, anyway. Keith took it with a reluctant, shaky hand.

“No, take the money. You answered our questions.” She paused. “Buy Lance something nice.”

Keith stared at the green slip in his hand and nodded numbly. It _would_ go toward making his sub happy. She’d just doubled the little bit of savings he’d scraped together thus far for their winter break trip. _Hello, NYC._

“Thanks,” he said. _For not pushing it._ “For the money, and – and for looking out for Lance. Seriously. It’s good to know I’m not the only one who’s got his back.”

Veronica smiled, faint and sad. “You’re not the only one. Of course you’re not.”

She spoke as though it had been a self-evident truth ten minutes before that Lance’s health and safety was of interest to them. It hadn’t.

But it was a little more evident now. And that was what counted, right?

Rachel spoke up again, no sign of the knife her tongue had been moments ago.

“Hey, Keith?” She said.

“Hm?”

“Take good care of him. Please.”

Keith met her eyes and held them. They were brimmed with sorrow. He heard a deeper, more vital layer to the request that went unspoken.

_Don’t let him turn into Verita._

“I’ll always take care of him,” he said. “Until the fucking second I die. Always.”

And _that_ was honest as honesty got.


	132. you're always gonna be afraid

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Maybe their mutual verbal explosion was his fault. Maybe Lance shouldn’t have pushed his mother.

Maybe their mutual verbal explosion was his fault. Maybe Lance shouldn’t have pushed his mother. She was already in such a fragile state, struggling to hold her life together under the knowledge that what was on the horizon would be, for her, an unspeakable tragedy. A tragedy that could befall her any day now, at any moment. Perhaps one of those wretched, urgent midnight calls would shatter her world while she tossed and turned alone in an Eastern King-sized bed.

And Lance was well aware of that. Maybe he should have bitten his tongue and let it be.

But, God, he so wanted an answer. He needed to _know._

Mama said as they cleaned the dishes and spooned hot chicken soup into a storage bowl, respectively: “The house just feels so much emptier now. So much...sadder. It doesn’t feel right.”

To which he replied in a mumble, head ducked as he scrubbed the cutting board: “Feels right to me.”

Mama didn’t respond right away. For a solid thirty seconds, the kitchen was silent save for running water, spoon scraping pot, sponge against wood.

“That was unnecessary,” she whispered finally. “You don’t have to say things like that.”

The shaky emotion in her voice clenched at his heart. Of course it did – but Lance stood his ground. He could be a fool that way.

“All I’m saying is, it must be nice to look in the mirror and not see bruises. You can’t tell me it isn’t.”

“Lance. Stop.”

“You know what? No.”

He slammed the water off hard enough to shake the faucet and whirled to face her. Mama, too, turned slowly from where she stood at the counter. Her eyes were sad and weary.

“Please, _mijo,_ ” she said. “We don’t need to fight; you’re still sick. Let’s not do this. It’s not the time.”

“This is the perfect time. We _are_ doing this. I don’t _get_ it, Mama!”

Her face hardened just a little. Whether her lips trembled from anger or impending tears, Lance couldn’t tell, and frankly, he didn’t really care.

“What is there not to get?” She asked with a sharp edge. “Of course I’m unhappy right now. It’s self-explanatory.”

“Oh, yeah, you’re right. It is. I do get it. If my Dom beat me on a regular basis, I’d be pretty unhappy, too.”

She released a bitter laugh. “Yes. Keith doesn’t do that to you, does he? Well, I have tough news to break, _mijo:_ I never thought your Papi would, either.”

The implication was so crystal-clear, it could hardly even be called an implication.

_I never thought Alexander would hit me. One day, when you least expect it – Keith will do the same._

Who needed a Dom to slap them across the face, anyway? His mother’s words did a thorough enough job of that.

Lance stumbled back a few steps from her and the sink, jaw fused tight, vision blurred by the risk of tears, and shook his head. When he spoke, his voice was low and dangerous.

“If you think that _I_ -” He tapped a harsh finger rapidly against his own chest. “Would _ever_ pick a Dom who might abuse me, then you don’t know me at all.”

Mama had no response to that – but, to be fair, Lance didn’t wait for one. His feet pounded the hardwood, and he slammed the door behind him as he left.

No ‘maybe’ about it this time: their weekend get-together had definitely been a terrible idea.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *inhales through teeth*
> 
> ohhhh...das a sick burn m8


	133. broken down like a mirror smashed to pieces

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith’s first reaction, given his location, was a spike of adrenaline, tense muscles, and Alexander.
> 
> But no. Alexander wasn’t there. The girls were right beside him. He couldn’t see Verita ever daring to slam a door or stomp up the stairs like an angry teenager.
> 
> Angry teenager.
> 
> Lance.
> 
> He dropped his controller to the coffee table and stood. “I’ve gotta go.”

Over the rapid clicks of controller buttons, rattled screams of dying zombies, Veronica’s creative swears, and Rachel’s laughter, a new sound arose: slammed doors and footsteps pounding the staircase.

Keith’s first reaction, given his location, was a spike of adrenaline, tense muscles, and _Alexander._

But no. Alexander wasn’t there. The girls were right beside him. He couldn’t see Verita ever daring to slam a door or stomp up the stairs like an angry teenager.

Angry teenager.

_Lance._

He dropped his controller to the coffee table and stood. “I’ve gotta go.”

“Wait – _go?_ ” Rachel fumbled to pause the game, then shot him an incredulous look. They clearly hadn’t heard what he had. Or maybe they were just so accustomed to the sounds of fighting that their brains regarded it as white noise in the background. “What do you mean ‘go’? Lance is still here. I thought you guys were spending the weekend?”

“Not go _home_.” Keith tried to keep the bite from his voice, but he couldn’t help it. She was wasting his time with pointless questions that had obvious answers. His sub needed him. “I have to go talk to Lance.”

Veronica raised an eyebrow. “Right now? It can’t wait until we beat this level?”

_No fucking shit, right now. If it could wait, I’d be waiting, wouldn’t I?_

“No,” he said. “Sorry. I’ll see you guys later.”

Keith wasted no more time on the pair of them. He fled from the lounge and took the stairs two at a time, all while his heart raced with an urgent _need_ to see Lance safe, sound, and dry-eyed.

Re-finding the guest room they’d claimed for the night was no easy task. Fuck only knew how these people found their way to their own beds. Just his luck, though: his mate made the task easier on him in his apparent flurry of anger. He followed the sound of frustrated feet. When he approached to round one hall corner, a door slammed loud and nearby enough to make his ears ring, and he flinched.

‘Kay. To the left, then.

Finding the correct door was smooth sailing from there on out. A loud growl-slash-groan of annoyance and the dull _thump_ of a body hitting the mattress might as well have been fucking neon signs. _Disgruntled sub in here!_ The bright arrows blinked. _Bitchiness in full swing! Proceed with caution; sub bites!_

Keith rapped light knuckles against the door and preceded his entrance with a soft, “Sweetheart? It’s me. Can I come in?” Mostly because there was a high likelihood that _not_ doing so would have earned him his head torn off.

There was a long pause. Then Lance’s voice rang, unexpectedly soft, timid, and muffled. “Yeah. Come in.”

Keith did. He turned the knob slowly and took hesitant, measures steps inside, as if traversing a minefield.

Lance lay belly-down on the bed, face stuffed into a pillow. All his previous anger seemed to have left him in a rush. He sniffled a little, and at the sound, Keith immediately abandoned any prospect of caution.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Lance mumbled as Keith perched on the edge of the mattress, firm hand soothing circles into his sub’s back.

“You don’t have to,” Keith said, though his brain screamed in protest. “Do you want to cuddle?”

Another pause. Then, a meek nod against the pillow, followed by another sniffle.

Keith wasted no time. A gentle pat to his sub’s hip encouraged him to shimmy over, and he pulled Lance onto his chest as soon as room was made. It was with deflated shoulders and a sigh of relief that he found the other’s eyes dry, though his expression was pinched.

_Make him talk!_ His primal side screamed. _Something is wrong, wrong, wrong. Help him!_

Keith settled instead on an utterance of, “Hey – I’m here to listen whenever you’re ready.”

“Thank you,” Lance whispered into his shirt, then said no more.

And what else could he do? Though tempting in comparison to the helplessness he felt, demanding Lance spill all his thoughts and feelings before he’d had a proper chance to process – _whatever_ the fuck had just happened – would not be a ‘help.’ If anything, force in that moment would be a hindrance.

So Keith didn’t force. He held his lover close, breathed through clenched teeth, and waited.


	134. you've learned the hard way to shut your mouth and smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was unfair to Keith, in Lance’s humble opinion, that he was forced to lie silently beneath him for thirty minutes just because his sub couldn’t get his damn emotions under control.

It was unfair to Keith, in Lance’s humble opinion, that he was forced to lie silently beneath him for thirty minutes just because his sub couldn’t get his damn emotions under control.

No tears were shed nor words spoken. He had no use for either device. In honesty, Lance couldn’t even be sure it was sadness his brain struggled to manifest in an illness-weakened body. Nothing about it felt sad. If anything, this leaned more toward the family of anger, and even that was a stretch.

“Keith?” He whispered, nose nuzzled into his Dom’s chest. “I’m ready to talk now.” _I think._

Tension he hadn’t realized Keith was holding drained from his muscles. A hot, slow breath brushed his forehead.

“Alright,” Keith said. “I’m listening, sweetheart.”

Hands mussed his hair and rubbed his back, and Lance grounded himself within the touch. Regardless of how sucky the day had turned out, how many puppet strings yanked his limbs, the universe’s threat to steal his control was an empty one; it wouldn’t be carried out. Keith would not let him float away.

“Mama and I had a fight.”

“I figured,” Keith said. “You weren’t exactly quiet.”

“Oh.” Lance squirmed against him. “Sorry.”

Keith shook his head. “No, hey – don’t worry about it. Don’t stop talking. I want to help.”

“She just said something...really awful. I got mad and stormed out. That’s pretty much it.”

“Nuh-uh. We’re not leaving it there. Details, baby boy.”

Lance’s breath, spine, and eyelids shuddered in unison. Why couldn’t they leave it there? That was the gist of it. That was all that really mattered.

(Except it wasn’t.)

“I know you’d never hurt me.” His voice grew choked and wet so suddenly that it took even him by surprise. Maybe he did feel a little sad, then. “You know I know that, right? You _never_ would.”

“Of course I wouldn’t,” Keith said, rife with shock and alarm. “Lance, baby, sit up and look at me – _shh, shh_ – look at me.”

Lance had no choice but to obey. Not because Keith forced him, but because every bone in his body banshee-screeched at the mere idea of defying his Dom. He was lost at sea, and his life vest was _right there._ He would follow any instruction it gave without hesitation.

“It’s fine,” Lance mumbled once they were upright and wide, worried eyes met his own. “Just something Mama said. It was stupid. Don’t worry about it.”

Keith cupped his face. Thumbs swept over his cheekbones. “Lance. What did she say?”

“She – _well._ Basically, she said it doesn’t matter if you’ve never hurt me before or how sure I am that you won’t, because she never thought Alexander would, either.”

Keith sucked in a sharp breath. The fingers on his face tightened protectively, and Lance closed his eyes. Turmoil was not a good look on his lifemate.

“Well,” Keith said, voice shaky. “You’re goddamn right. I’d never hurt you.”

“I know you wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t be able to fucking live with myself if I even tried.”

“I know, babe. I know.”

Lance, with eyes still squeezed shut, made a blind aim at Keith’s forehead. Lips that were now only mildly chapped hit their target. Keith hummed in approval, and Lance took that as a cue he could look at the Dom’s face again and not be bombarded by guilt for his anguish.

Sure enough, Keith’s expression had melted into something much softer. Lance smiled faintly at the sight.

“You’re mom’s nice and all,” Keith said. “But she has absolutely no idea what the fuck she’s talking about.”

And wasn’t it ridiculous how, after all that, Lance felt an ardent need to jump to Mama’s defense?

“It wasn’t like that,” he said roughly. “She’s practically been brainwashed. She didn’t mean it.”

Keith nodded in a placating way. “I know she didn’t. Do you want to take a nap? You’re still recovering.”

The abrupt change of subject wasn’t lost on him, but Lance could hardly complain – a nap sounded _heavenly._ He dropped his head to Keith’s shoulder and nuzzled close.

“Will you lie with me?”

“Of course I will, beautiful.”

Maybe the world would be a little less dull and colorless when he woke.

Maybe.


	135. and if these walls could talk, they would have so much to say

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith had no recollection of falling asleep, but the next time he opened his eyes, twilight peeked around the edges of the curtains and there was a knock on the guest bedroom door. It took him a moment to reorient, and he blinked through the first hazy seconds of trying to remember why the hell he wasn’t in his own bed.
> 
> It helped when Rachel’s voice sounded from the other side of the door; “Lance? Keith? It’s time for dinner.”

Keith had no recollection of falling asleep, but the next time he opened his eyes, twilight peeked around the edges of the curtains and there was a knock on the guest bedroom door. It took him a moment to reorient, and he blinked through the first hazy seconds of trying to remember why the hell he wasn’t in his own bed.

It helped when Rachel’s voice sounded from the other side of the door; “Lance? Keith? It’s time for dinner.”

Keith sighed and rolled his head at an awkward angle on the pillow. He was rewarded by the peaceful sight of his sub sleeping soundly on his chest. Ten slim fingers curled limply in his shirt.

“Thanks,” Keith called back to Rachel, and winced when, as expected, Lance began to stir. “We’ll be down in a few minutes.”

But as Lance yawned and blinked his eyes open, the shadow of feet beneath the door remained.

“Is Lance okay?” Rachel asked, hesitantly, and the shadow shuffled. The sub in question lifted a mussed-haired head and frowned blearily in the door’s general direction.

What part of ‘thanks, we’ll be down in a few minutes’ was so goddamn hard to understand?

“He’s fine,” Keith said, clipped. “I said give us a few minutes. Please,” he tacked on. The word felt strange on his tongue. Lane turned the confused gaze on him.

Another long pause.

“Okay,” Rachel said. The shadow shuffled once more, then slowly disappeared.

“Wha’s that ‘bout?” Lance rubbed his fists at sleep-ridden eyes and yawned again.

“Family dinner,” Keith said, and Lance stiffened, hands slowly falling from his face. “I’d say we could just skip it and go back to sleep, but the E.R. doctor said...”

“Gotta start eating more.” Lance heaved a sigh and dropped back onto his Dom’s torso. “Yeah. Don’t want a repeat of that. We should probably go.”

Keith gulped as a weight sunk in his chest. It was probably his heart turned stone-heavy. Hints of anxiety and apprehension shone through Lance’s calm facade, well-masked though the feelings were. His ears were attuned to pick up on his sub’s every slightest emotion.

“I’m sorry,” he said, because he wasn’t sure what else he _could_ say.

Lance only shook his head. “Don’t be. I guess I did sign up to spend two days with them, right? Family dinner’s part of the deal.”

And then the stone in his chest dropped to his gut and promptly began to churn. He tightened the arm wrapped around Lance’s waist on instinct.

Keith couldn’t put his finger on it, but something about the situation felt so fucking _wrong._ Like they weren’t meant to go join the other McClains for an evening meal. Like something terrible would happen if they did. Something he could and _should_ protect his good boy from.

_Anxiety,_ he decided. It could be a nasty little bitch.

“Alright,” Keith said. “Let’s go get you something to eat.”

The feeling did not lesson as the two of them fixed up their disheveled, post-nap appearances and made their way downstairs. If anything, it grew heavier.


	136. cause every time you fight the scars are gonna heal, but they're never gonna go away

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And, though he didn’t feel guilt for letting silence slip in and fill the cracks between the five of them, Lance did regret it soon enough. Regret sucker-punched him in the gut when Veronica opened her mouth and took a deep breath and –
> 
> “So how was Papi today?”
> 
> And said that.

“Why don’t you try the soup we made, _mijo?_ It’ll help you heal faster.”

Lance ground his molars hard enough that he was surprised they didn’t chip. “No, thanks. I’d rather eat what everyone else is having.”

To be fair, he wasn’t _eating_ as much as he was staring blankly at his plate, silverware untouched. Doctor Vianelli had told him upon discharge to have larger meals, preferably ones that didn’t come straight out of a wrapper and couldn’t be consumed in thirty seconds flat, but that was easier instructed than done. Try though he did, he couldn’t muster up even a sliver of appetite.

Mama opened her mouth – likely to protest – then seemed to think better of it. He watched her throat move as she gulped and averted her eyes to the pure cotton napkin laid properly in her lap.

She wasn’t the only one. Across the table, both his sisters shuffled food around with their forks and chewed in slow, robotic movements. Keith stared right through a fifteen year old picture of the five McClain siblings displayed on the wall. The children smiled.

Sucked how they didn’t really do much of that nowadays. Gathering. Smiling.

Also sucked how everyone apparently knew he and Mama had fought – but of course they did. Like Keith said, they hadn’t exactly been quiet. Or, rather, _he_ hadn’t been quiet. There was no shortage of embarrassment in the memory made only a few hours prior. He’d acted like a huffy thirteen year old.

With good reason. But still.

Mama tried again, weakly; “We made the soup so you could-”

“I’m not a child. I don’t need substitutions.”

“Okay,” she whispered. “That’s alright.”

Should he have felt guilty for the way she shied back in fear? Maybe. He didn’t, though. It wasn’t his fault she’d been beaten far enough into submission that she cowered at her own son’s mild anger. It wasn’t even his fault he was angry.

Was it?

No. No, it wasn’t. Probably.

And, though he didn’t feel guilt for letting silence slip in and fill the cracks between the five of them, Lance did regret it soon enough. Regret sucker-punched him in the gut when Veronica opened her mouth and took a deep breath and –

“So how was Papi today?”

And said _that._

God, Lance should have drawn out the soup talk while he still had the chance. How many types of soup were there in the world? What was the difference between soup and chowder? Did clam chowder _technically_ belong in the canned soup isle of a grocery store; had it earned its rightful place there? How many verbal adventures could they have embarked upon within that topic?

Well – not many, admittedly. But they could have tried. That would have been an awkward conversation, and likely stilted as hell.

It still would have been better than this.

Again, Lance grit his teeth. This time, though, he kept his lips pressed into a thin line. Better to zip it and bear the topic of Alexander as a begrudging listener than open his mouth and risk spitting out words he might regret.

Not to say those words would not be the truth, mind you. Just that he might regret them.

“The same,” Mama said, and in the silence that followed, Lance had a foolish moment of hope she would leave it there. No suck luck. “They’ve been taking scans every few days, at his request. His prognosis hasn’t changed.”

Mama flitted a glance toward him so brief Lance almost thought he’d imagined it. She must have slipped out to see her Dom in the hours he and Keith spent asleep. Funny how _that_ conversation, of all things, gave her an urge to pay Alexander a visit.

“Is he still in a lot of pain?” Rachel asked quietly, and Lance did a double take.

Still?

The way Alexander held himself, even now in the final stretch, hardly gave Lance the impression he was suffering.

Then again, his father had always been such an expert at hiding things. Picasso to the art of masks.

Mama wasn’t lost on this. She pursed her lips. “Yes. He won’t admit it, but yes. I think he is.”

“That sucks,” Veronica said.

And Lance couldn’t help it.

He tried to keep his mouth shut and hold tight until the subject was changed. He really, _really_ tried. But, God, when they said things like that –

“Why does it suck?” He asked.

Four pairs of wide eyes snapped toward him. Lance gulped.

_Shit._

Mama’s eyes narrowed. “What do you mean?”

_Shit, shit, shit._

Well, he’d already ridden the train this far, hadn’t he? His stop was long gone now. Might as well hold out for the final one.

“What I _mean_ is, he’s caused pain for everyone in this room.” Some of them more than others. “Why shouldn’t he suffer, too?”

“It wasn’t like that, _mijo_ ,” Mama said. “You know it wasn’t. He...he has a brain tumor. That will make people do strange things. Make them act unlike themselves.”

Red edged his vision. Lance curled trembling fingers into fists in his lap. “Fourteen years ago? No, Mama. That wasn’t the cancer.”

“How do you know that?” Veronica asked, hesitantly. Her eyes gleamed with sincerity, like she genuinely wanted an answer. Like she wanted to understand. “How can you be so sure? Maybe it was, Lance. We have no idea.”

Jump from the train, or wait until it screeched to a halt?

Too risky to jump. He didn’t have much of a choice.

Lance took a shuddering breath.

“Because I remember the day it started.”


	137. there's only hate, there's only tears, there's only pain (there is no love here)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance was five years old.
> 
> Nothing in the world made much sense, but nothing much needed to. At the end of the day, so very few things mattered.
> 
> The three things that did matter were, conveniently, the only three things he could be sure of: green beans were yucky, unicorns were definitely real, and his Mama and Papi both loved him very, very much.

Lance was five years old.

Nothing in the world made much sense, but nothing much needed to. At the end of the day, so very few things mattered.

The three things that did matter were, conveniently, the only three things he could be sure of: green beans were yucky, unicorns were definitely real, and his Mama and Papi both loved him very, very much.

He’d also been reliably informed by Marco that those definitely-real unicorns ate rainbows and pooped glitter, but he was kind of on the fence about that one. He slept every night with a stuffed unicorn, and he’d certainly never woken to a glitter pile on his pillows.

(Papi bought the unicorn for him without hesitation the instant Lance saw it in a toy store and said he liked it. Mama huffed and rolled her eyes and said, ‘you’re spoiling him, Alexander,’ but Papi only smiled. Maybe he should ask Papi about the rainbows and the glitter. Papi knew everything.)

Papi really _did_ know everything. He was smart and strong, and he undoubtedly, unabashedly adored his youngest son.

_To the moon and back,_ Papi said while tucking him into bed one night, after he’d said ‘I love you’ and Lance asked ‘how much?’ _To the moon and back, forever and ever and ever._

Lance snuggled his unicorn close and slept with a smile on his face.

The next day, Mama and Papi fought.

They’d been doing that a lot lately. Raising their voices, growing red in the face, getting angry and stomping off and slamming doors. It never lasted more than a few hours before they were smiling and hugging and being normal again, but nonetheless, it scared him. It scared him because other kids at kindergarten talked about their parents separating and breaking their lifebonds, and he didn’t _want_ his parents to separate. They loved each other, and they loved him, and he loved them. The idea of things changing so drastically was beyond terrifying.

So when he sat in the kitchen the next afternoon, grooming his unicorn with Veronica’s comb – without her knowledge, naturally – and Mama and Papi began to fight, Lance did the most natural thing a frightened five year old sub could do.

He hid beneath the table.

Out of sight, out of mind, apparently. His parents must not have realized he was still there. If they had, they certainly wouldn’t have hurled such ugly words at one another. Mama called them ‘swears.’ Whenever _he_ used one, usually after learning it from his brothers and their friends, his mother gave him a stern look and told him it was ‘un-except-bable.’ Papi usually just laughed.

Mama never liked it when Papi laughed at Lance’s ‘swears.’ More than once, he’d overheard her mumbling, _wish you wouldn’t laugh at that…_

Well, it seemed like Mama had gotten her wish.

Papi certainly wasn’t laughing at her swears now.

Lance was five years old when it happened. Five years old when his world was turned upside down forever.

Five years old the first time he ever saw Papi hit Mama.

It happened so quickly that he might have missed it if he’d blinked. But Lance didn’t blink. He absorbed every nanosecond with wide and wet eyes.

One moment, Mama was saying something really mean with lots of swears, and the next, Papi’s hand was raised high above his head and –

_Smack._

Mama stumbled away from him until her back hit the counter. She raised one trembling palm to her own face, like she couldn’t quite believe the sting there. Her eyes were suddenly as tearful as Lance’s.

“You said you’d never do that again,” she whispered in the sudden silence, such a contrast to the volume they’d both shouted at only seconds before, and Lance stuffed his unicorn over his mouth to stifle his crying. “You _swore._ ”

_Well, you_ both _swore, a lot,_ Lance would have pointed out if he was able, but he couldn’t even _breathe,_ much less speak. Why couldn’t he breathe? Was he dying? Could Mama breathe? She didn’t look like she could.

Neither did Papi, for that matter. The look on his face was one of abject fear. A look that said, _did I really just do that?_

_You did. You did, you did, you did._

“Verita,” Papi said, just as quiet as Mama. “I didn’t mean to...I’m _so_...”

Mama shook her head. It was with wordless anger that her face hardened, the tears welling in her eyes replaced by cold steel, and she turned and left the kitchen without a backward glance.

The unicorn was no longer enough to muffle his own sadness. Lance started to sob, his heart pounding and his head swimming with dizziness. At once, Papi began to look around the room in alarm.

His eyes fell on Lance’s sock-clad feet tucked beneath the table.

Alarm turned to absolute _horror._

“Lance?” Papi whispered, voice shaking. “Lance, _mijo,_ hey...hey, _shh._ It’s just me. It’s...it’s just Papi. I’m sorry you had to see that. Can you come out here and talk to me, love?”

He approached in slow steps, head ducked a little to meet Lance’s eyes, and Lance couldn’t help it – his sobs grew louder. Papi knelt before the table and reached a gentle, hesitant hand toward his son. Lance was struck by a bolt of panic. He scooted himself backwards across the linoleum until his back hit a table leg.

Just like Mama backed up into the kitchen counter. Just like Mama scrambled away from Papi after he…

“Don’t h-hit me.” Lance hiccuped, one tiny, petite fist rubbing at his eyes. “P-please. I won’t use any bad words and I’ll behave r-really good today. Please don’t hurt me.”

Papi stared, open-mouthed – and then his eyes, too, grew misty.

“I would never hurt you, Lance,” Papi whispered. “ _Never._ Oh, my sweet boy, come here – come to Papi-”

But why should he believe that? What reason did he have to trust that Papi wouldn’t hit him, too? _You said you’d never do that again,_ Mama had told him.

If he broke that promise to her, hit her after he said he wouldn’t – then what was to prevent him from doing the same to Lance?

“Get away from me!” Lance yelled, a sudden burst of that childish, temper-tantrum level of anger that had no filter. “You hurt my Mama and you’re mean and I hate you! I don’t love you anymore! I hate you, I hate you, I _hate_ you!”

For a moment, Lance feared he might have gone too far. It was Mama’s yelling and mean words that had set Papi off and made him break his promise in the first place, after all.

But Papi kept this promise. He only sat there, shell-shocked, gazing at Lance like this child had just ripped his heart out from his chest and stomped all over it.

“Okay,” Papi said, voice still little more than a whisper. He gulped. Lance could have sworn he saw a tear beginning to form on his father’s lower lashline, but it was blinked away before he could be sure. His own rage left him in a rush. “Okay, _mijo._ I know you’re angry with me right now. That’s okay. I’m angry with me, too. Just...just remember that your Papi loves you very much, yeah? We can talk later, when we’re both more calm.”

Lance darted out from beneath the table, shoved past his father, and made a rush for the stairs, unicorn held in a death-grip against his chest and tears still flowing.

They never did talk about it.


	138. there's only lies, there's only fears, there's only pain (there is no love here)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance was eight years old.
> 
> Mama and Papi were fighting again. It was nothing new. He could hear them in the kitchen just below his bedroom.
> 
> His bedroom, which was currently filled with boxes all labeled either ‘keep’ or ‘donate,’ just like every other room in their house. The house he’d been brought home to from the hospital when he was a mere day and a half old. The house he’d grown up thus far in. Home.
> 
> Didn’t feel much like home nowadays. If anything, it felt like a battlefield.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> little note on this chapter as well as the last that I forgot to mention: the dialogue here is written in english for ease of reading, but in these first two flashbacks it's safe to assume they're all speaking spanish
> 
> enjoy!

Lance was eight years old.

Mama and Papi were fighting again. It was nothing new. He could hear them in the kitchen just below his bedroom.

His bedroom, which was currently filled with boxes all labeled either ‘keep’ or ‘donate,’ just like every other room in their house. The house he’d been brought home to from the hospital when he was a mere day and a half old. The house he’d grown up thus far in. _Home._

Didn’t feel much like home nowadays. If anything, it felt like a battlefield.

When the fighting started, he always unabashedly cracked his door open to better hear the firey words his parents slung back and forth. There was no shame in this – mostly because Lance knew for a fact he wasn’t the only child who listened in. On the rare occasion that he risked an excursion through the halls while his parents fought, his brothers and sisters’ doors, too, were ever so slightly opened.

Lord only knew why they all did that to themselves. Lance often spent the entirety of those fights tense and on edge, just waiting for the sounds of skin hitting skin and Mama’s crying to begin. Why did he _want_ to hear that? Why did his siblings?

_It’s better to know,_ Lance always told himself, but whether or not that was actually true, he couldn’t say.

This time, it wasn’t he who braved the halls in search of companionship. A knock on his door interrupted the shouting downstairs. Luis was a freshly-turned eighteen year old, but when he poked his head into Lance’s room, he looked at least ten years older.

“Lance,” Luis whispered, and Lance dropped the handheld game he’d only been paying minimal attention to. Luis made a come-hither motion with one finger. “Do you wanna come hang out in my room?”

Lance was off the bed in an instant. He scrambled toward his brother and grasped the older boy’s wrist like a lifeline.

“Yeah,” he breathed, eyes wide and pleading. “Can I?”

Luis smiled sadly down at him. “’Course you can, buddy.”

His grip on the other’s arm as they tip-toed down the hall must have hurt, but Luis said nothing. It was easier to hear the words their parents hurled as they passed the staircase. Lance could have sworn he felt his heart physically break in his chest as the contents of their fight became clear.

His name. Rachel. School. America. English. Held back.

Of course, Lance already knew he and Rachel were both going to be ‘held back’ a year behind the other students their ages in their new American school. Something about their clumsy grasps of the English language being a hindrance to more fluently bilingual Miami children and blah, blah, blah…

He’d felt no guilt for that before. Why should he? It made perfect sense, and he had no qualms about spending a year doing easy schoolwork he already knew how to do.

But now – hearing his parents _fight_ over him and Rachel like that – Lance gulped.

Was this his fault?

When Papi inevitably started hitting Mama, just like he always did when they fought...would _that_ be his fault?

_Yes,_ a mean little voice in his head whispered. _Yes, of course it’s your fault. Isn’t it always?_

Was it?

That voice, mean as it was, didn’t hold much power. It was killed by the smile that lit Lance’s face when Luis pushed open his bedroom door.

A Twister mat was laid out on the floor. Marco, Veronica, and Rachel had already been gathered, and they sat talking and laughing on the edge of Luis’s bed, tones hushed.

“Welcome to the party.” Marco grinned. “Ready for a friendly little duel to the death?”

Rachel’s eyes grew wide. “H-he’s joking, right?”

“Obviously,” Veronica huffed.

The sounds of his sisters screeching and his brothers spitting insults that were only half-joking drowned out any noise from the kitchen below.

And just like that, everything was alright again.


	139. you're falling, you're screaming

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance was eleven years old and – and –
> 
> God, were they ever going to shut up?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hey guys! i'm sorry for the lack of updates lately!
> 
> somebody reached out on tumblr in concern for me because of the lack of updates - so I just wanted to assure y'all here, all is well in my world! it's just that each chapter, from first draft to the final polished version, takes about 2 hours to write, and I don't have any written in advance anymore. so I had to wait until a day I have downtime (like today and tomorrow) to rebuild up my arsenal of prepared chapters! more updates are on the way!
> 
> oh, and also, for those who don't follow me on tumblr and didn't see the announcement: I've finished the bare bones outline of third story in the hlp series! I know in general what the main plot and most of the sublots are, and the same goes for hlp 4. I've yet to flesh out each specific chapter and what happens in each scene, but I do know one thing for certain...hlp 3 will have 194 chapters! 101 more than hlp, but only a little over half that of requiem. i'm excited to release the title of hlp 3 to you guys! i'm pretty sure the working title I have now is the one i'm keeping, but obviously, I want to be sure before I announce it.
> 
> this is another flashback chapter! there will be 2 more flashbacks after this, then we go back into the present and things just...go downhill from there.
> 
> enjoy!

Lance was eleven years old and – _and_ –

God, were they ever going to _shut up?_

He pressed the pillow over his head tight enough to make his arms shake, trying to block out the grating sound of Mama’s cries. Tears of guilt leaked from his eyes and dribbled onto the bedsheets below at that thought. None of this was Mama’s fault. It never had been. Didn’t she have a right, considering the hell her life had become, to sob uncontrollably in the dead of night?

Didn’t she have a right to cry, considering what he did – what he was _doing_ – to her?

The scenario was a typical one. Papi was drunk. Papi had the scent of another woman’s perfume lingering on his shirt when he stumbled through the door at midnight. Mama wasn’t as stupid as he seemed to think she was.

Not that it mattered how smart or stupid she was. Not anymore. When he was eight, two voices screamed during their fights.

Now, one voice screamed. Papi’s.

Mama didn’t scream at him anymore. She didn’t return his charged words, all the insults and accusations. Mama only cried, begged, and apologized. She only folded and took what was forced upon her without complaint.

She’d given up. Utterly, completely, out of ceaseless exhaustion, relentless pain, and perpetual despair, without so much as an elusive light at the end of the tunnel to grant her hope – she’d given up.

Mama gave up a battle she’d never wanted or initiated in the first place but fought long and hard for years to win anyway, and her youngest son had never felt more alone in the world than he did in that moment.

Lance was eleven years old, and…

...and this was the first time it happened. The first time that voice grew stronger; the first time it roared, loud and proud, and he cowered and whimpered beneath its words.

_This disaster is what you call your family? What you call ‘life’?_

_You’d be better off dead._


	140. you're stuck in the same old nightmare

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance was fourteen years old.
> 
> Honestly, at his age, he probably should have known better. He should have known broaching such a topic in front of the entire family would cause the mother of all fights to break out at their dinner table – but when the hell else was he supposed to ask?
> 
> This was the only time of day his Papi spoke to him anymore.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you all for being so patient with me while I restock on prepared (microwave-ready...?) chapters! I plan to post at least one every day this week, but more likely it will be 2 most days. 
> 
> i'm so glad you guys are so understanding; my adhd ass is working on getting other parts of my life together, like budgeting my money and finally cleaning and organizing my room that hasn't been cleaned in months, so I've had even less time than usual to write - but having a clean room will help me have a clearer mind in the future, thus helping me be more productive in writing sessions so i can give you higher quality work more often. 
> 
> plus i'm getting ready to get a whole new group of kids in my classroom at work when the summer starts, and i'm really focusing on trying to make sure my current group is developmentally prepared to enter the 3 year old's room. this means more intentional and intensive lesson planning, and a lot more activities i have to prepare for them each week. for example - i need to figure out a way to teach them how to properly hold and use kids' safety scissors without frustrating them into giving up on it. if any parents or fellow preschool teachers just so happen to have advice on teaching young 3's to use scissors, it would be very much welcome in the comments below or my tumblr ask box.
> 
> but, anyways - your patience is recognized and appreciated! i love you guys!
> 
> this is the second to last flashback; one more before we get back into the present and see the fam's reaction to all of these memories he's sharing...
> 
> ~y i k e s~
> 
> get your tissues ready for the rest of act 9... >:)
> 
> enjoy!

Lance was fourteen years old.

Honestly, at his age, he probably should have known better. He should have known broaching such a topic in front of the entire family would cause the mother of all fights to break out at their dinner table – but when the hell _else_ was he supposed to ask?

This was the only time of day his Papi spoke to him anymore.

Even then, the man would not look him in the face, and he kept his questions stilted and monotone. He asked things and expected answers, but would not give them. Lance had learned over the years that there was not much point in asking him anything.

Papi hadn’t looked him in the eye in over five years. Hadn’t held a real conversation with him or uttered anything besides intrusive, demanding questions in nearly three.

And yet, somehow, Lance found the nerve to say:

“I want to go to the Galaxy Garrison for high school. In Arizona. Alone.”

Immediately, the table grew quiet. Soft murmurs of, ‘how was your day?’, ‘fine’, and ‘please pass the salt’ faded. Only the scrapes of silverware against plates barred them from complete silence.

Papi stared at the piece of steak speared on his fork and spoke slowly. “...I see.”

Lance gulped. When that vague, veiled response was all he got, he continued in a voice that, much to his annoyance, trembled terribly.

“It’s a boarding school. An upper-class one, not a trashy one. They have, like, technology and piloting classes, plus all the normal high school stuff. You get put into one of three tracks – fighter pilots, cargo pilots, and enginee-”

“I know what the Galaxy Garrison is.”

Lance swallowed again. This time, the sudden, desert-dry texture of his throat made it difficult.

Desert-dry. Just like the outskirts of Plant City, Arizona, where the Garrison could be found. A school he’d started reading up on religiously every chance he got a few months before. A school that taught about all the galaxies and post-explosion supernovas he’d been secretly enthralled with since he was twelve.

A school that could make all his hopes and dreams come true in a mere four years. The hopes and dreams he held close to his chest and let no one else see, not even his Mama, not even his siblings, except now he was placing his best bet at a bright future in the palm of the Garrison and –

_Wait._

No.

Not in the palm of the Garrison; not truly. Lance had no doubt he could pass their grueling entrance exams, simulator test runs, and interviews with flying colors if he really put his mind to it. The palm he placed his dear, precious dream in now was not the Garrison’s, but Papi’s.

Papi, who couldn’t even bear to look him in the eye. Who had so clearly evicted Lance long ago from that huge share of space he once occupied in his father’s heart. Who had little to no interest in Lance, his future, or his happiness.

Papi, who would surely – almost without _any_ doubt – crush that dream now. Curl his fingers around it and crumble it into bits, effortlessly. Just because he could.

“No,” Papi said, and Lance fully expected it, but his heart turned to stone and dropped into his stomach all the same. “There’s no good reason to leave your family for four years. That school’s swimming with hormonal young Doms, anyway. Only a year and half until you can be claimed – we’ll keep you safe at home until then.”

_Keep me safe? You’ve never once shown an interest in ‘keeping me safe.’ If you cared about my safety, you wouldn’t terrify me every minute, every hour, every day._

Bile rushed up his throat at the reminder that his father planned to push him into a claim as soon as legally possible. The idea of being set up by that man disgusted him. Or maybe what made him feel so sick was the implication that Papi couldn’t wait to dust his hands of his youngest son, pass him off onto somebody else and say, _he’s your problem now._

It didn’t matter exactly what made his stomach twist. Lance could voice none of it. He’d taken his risk, put himself out there, and it backfired spectacularly. Whatever. Didn’t matter, didn’t matter, _(he)_ didn’t matter.

Except maybe it _(he)_ did matter to someone. Because Lance could not find the words nor the strength to fight back – but, Lord bless her soul, his Mama could.

“We can more than afford it,” she said, nothing more than a whisper but volumes louder than Lance’s silence. Mama didn’t look at her Dom as she spoke. She, like her five children, stared blankly at her plate. “If he can pass their entry tests, I see no reason why-”

“I said _no,_ Verita. Don’t argue with me. You know better. Lance is going to stay at home with us, find a nice Dom girl to claim him, and raise her children. He doesn’t need to go to some specialized school; he’ll never need a job. He’s a sub. And, Lance – I don’t want to hear _any_ more of this nonsense about piloting or engineering, you understand me? Not a word.”

Lance couldn’t blame Mama when she deflated, folded in on herself, and murmured a soft affirmative. At least she’d tried. It was more than he could say for himself.

Unlike Mama, he kept his silence. He did not nod or agree in any way. Let his defeat be a soundless one. If that was the least of his dignity he could preserve, then preserve it, he would.

_Goodbye, happy future._

_Hello, lifelong misery._


	141. he's lying, you're crying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance was eighteen years old.
> 
> This time, it was more than just an arbitrary number, more than a mere age range. He was an adult now. Papi – no, Alexander – couldn’t keep him here anymore. Eighteen was the only key that could unlock the hellish prison he’d thus far called his life.
> 
> Eighteen meant he was finally free.

Lance was eighteen years old.

This time, it was more than just an arbitrary number, more than a mere age range. He was an adult now. Papi – no, _Alexander_ – couldn’t keep him here anymore. Eighteen was the only key that could unlock the hellish prison he’d thus far called his life.

Eighteen meant he was finally _free._

Eighteen meant no more Dom daughters of Alexander’s friends, pretty and sweet but equally as unwilling as Lance to be set up by their parents, would be pushed toward him during his father’s high-class house parties. Eighteen meant no more pressing a pillow over his head in futile attempts to drown out the sound of his mother’s agony.

Eighteen meant his hopes and dreams placed back in his _own_ palm, whole and well, ready to thrive.

Eighteen, much to his surprise and delight, meant a full scholarship to the Galaxy Garrison.

Naturally, Alexander was not as pleased with this revelation as Lance was. He invited himself to stand in the doorway of Lance’s room and watch his son pack, shoulder leaned casually against the frame, arms crossed over his chest.

“So this is really it, then,” Alexander said. “You’re just gonna up and abandon your family. Like it’s no big deal.”

Lance clenched his fingers into fists around folded shirts. “Gotta leave at some point, don’t I?”

“This soon? You’re gonna get eaten alive at that school, kid.”

“Didn’t you want me to get claimed two years ago? This isn’t ‘too soon.’ You’re the one who’s been pushing me to leave the house since I was sixteen.”

“But not _alone._ ”

Lance turned. Wide eyes locked onto his father’s face. Alexander always masked his emotions well and this day was no exception, but the slight pinch of his brows and the uncertain edge to his voice gave him away.

If Lance didn’t know any better, he might have thought Alexander was... _scared_ for him. For his safety.

But that was ridiculous. Beyond absurd. He hadn’t given a damn in thirteen years. Why would he start now?

“I’ll be fine,” Lance said, short, clipped. “I’m an adult. I can take care of myself.”

There were a million things he could have anticipated in response to that. Blatant denial of his maturity, for one.

Alexander’s reaction was not on Lance’s list of expectations. It wasn’t even _near_ the list. It lived five million lightyears away from any conceivable outcome.

And, yet, there it was, right in front of him: his father’s surrender.

Alexander nodded. “Fine. You go ahead, Lance. Be stubborn. Flunk out of a strict military school, if that’s what you want. Just don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Lance blinked. Shock raced through his veins like ice water. He tried hard not to let it show on his face.

Was Alexander giving him... _permission?_

Not that he needed it – but still.

“I’m not going to flunk out,” he said. “I’ll graduate with honors. But thanks for the pep talk, Dad. Super helpful.”

“ _Dad?”_ Alexander quirked a brow. One corner of his lips curled upward in a grimace of disgust.

Lance shrugged. “I won’t be in a bilingual city anymore. Nobody says ‘Papi’ in Arizona. You want me to fit in, to not get eaten alive? Then I have to get used to talking the way most Americans talk, right?”

It was also kind of, maybe, just a little bit fun to watch that brief array of emotions flash across Alexander’s face. It felt like _power._

 _You don’t own me._ Lance hadn’t the guts to say as much out loud, but he pushed the thought toward his father with all the mental intensity he could muster. _Nobody owns me, but sure as hell not you._

Lance was not going to crash and burn at the Galaxy Garrison; he was going to thrive. He’d never been more certain of anything in his life. Alexander could not hold him down anymore.

Nobody ever would again.

 

* * *

 

“Please, please stop. I don’t want to. I don’t _want_ to, it hurts. Red light. _Stop_.”

“Shut the fuck up. Take it like a good little sub. I’m the fucking Dom here, you slut.”

 

* * *

 

Lance did not thrive at the Galaxy Garrison.

He crashed and burned.

 

* * *

 

_You’re gonna get eaten alive at that school, kid._

He never should have come here. He should have stayed at home with his family, where he was safe, where an unclaimed sub like him belonged.

Papi was right.

_You were right, Papi, you were right. I want to go home. Please help me. Please, please, please, I’m sorry I left. I’ll never leave again, never never never._

_I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry._


	142. there's nothing left to salvage

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m sorry.”
> 
> Head to toe and every nerve in between, Lance quaked. Tremors shook his lips and fingertips in unison. Silverware no longer scraped plates. Four pairs of eyes, varying in both wideness and wetness, stared at him. He regarded it as a miracle that no tears were actually shed.

“I’m sorry.”

Head to toe and every nerve in between, Lance quaked. Tremors shook his lips and fingertips in unison. Silverware no longer scraped plates. Four pairs of eyes, varying in both wideness and wetness, stared at him. He regarded it as a miracle that no tears were actually shed.

“That’s...” Veronica’s voice trembled, and a quick, sidelong glance her way told Lance that, like him, her physical strength had taken a sudden hit. And that was...strange. Her empathy. Her connection. “ _I’m_ sorry, Lance. Don’t you dare apologize. We should be saying sorry to you.”

Rachel nodded, wobbly chin tucked close to her chest. “I always believed the things you said about him, but I didn’t _understand._ I’m just glad you got out. Looks like the Garrison was good for you.”

But, _God,_ she had no idea. None of them did – because he hadn’t actually voiced anything past his and Alexander’s stilted goodbye the day before he officially ‘got out.’ Part of him wanted to share the full truth. Part of him did not. The latter won when it killed the words in his throat.

Keith grasped his hand beneath the table, and Lanced stared at him through blurred vision. His Dom’s smile was a bittersweet mixture of pride in his sub’s bravery and sadness for his suffering. Lance squeezed his fingers back hard enough to hurt. If it _did_ hurt, Keith said nothing of it.

Only one reaction left to assess. Easily the hardest person at the table to look in the eye at that moment was his mother.

But Lance didn’t have to worry about making eye contact. Mama stared downward now, silent and stony. She looked like she was in desperate need of a shock blanket.

Up to him to initiate the hard conversation with her. What else was new?

Lance gulped. “Come on, Mama. You have to say something.” _I didn’t spill my heart out on the dinner table just so you could ignore me._

Ignore him, she did. Or maybe she wasn’t ignoring the ugly truth; maybe she just couldn’t find the words. Maybe he’d dumped too much on her, too soon, and she was simply overwhelmed.

“You can’t tell me that was all just the tumor,” Lance continued. “Didn’t the doctors say there’s no telling how long the cancer’s been causing neurotoxicity? For all we know, he’s only had Glioblastoma for a couple of years. You can’t blame fourteen years of abuse on a single malignant tumor.”

Zero. Zilch. Nada. It wasn’t only that Mama didn’t speak – she hardly even _blinked._

“You know what, Mama? I understand. I really do.” Lance fought to pretend both his sisters’ surprised, confused gazes were not suddenly locked on his face (but they were). “You love Alexander. More than anything. It’s easier to blame yourself, to say you should have noticed he was sick, than to admit you fell in love with someone like him – but it’s not your fault. It’s _not._ He made his choices. I thought my abuse was my fault, too, at first, but it never was. So _please,_ Mama – don’t blame yourself.”

At that, Mama did look up. Rather, her head _shot_ up. An alarmed gaze flickered between him and the other three young adults at the table, as if searching for an answer to a question she didn’t want to voice.

Lance was startled by her sudden spark of emotion. It didn’t strike him _why_ she’d jumped back to life until another, softer, more frightened voice sounded. Horror and realization flooded his lungs.

“ _Your_ abuse?” Veronica whispered. 

Lance closed his eyes slowly. He took a deep breath that failed to steady the tremors or ease his palpitating heart. Wrapped firmly around his own, Keith’s hand, too, began to shake.

This proverbial train ride was not over yet – far from it, in fact. The end was nowhere in sight.

Should have jumped while he had the chance.


	143. kick the door 'cause this is over

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dinner lasted another thirty-three point five seconds...approximately. Not like he was counting or anything.

Dinner lasted another thirty-three point five seconds...approximately. Not like he was counting or anything.

“I’ll tell you when we’re done eating,” Lance mumbled in response to Veronica’s probing stare after he’d had a moment to collect himself, though he still didn’t feel very collected. “No need to ruin everyone’s appetite.”

Between his flu diagnosis and the drastic turn this Saturday had taken, Lance’s own appetite felt irreparably damaged. He shuffled his fork through a dinner he’d only taken two bites of. Maybe he should have had that chicken soup, after all.

In the silence, his mother and sisters looked at each other, faces hardened with a unanimous decision. They turned toward him and pushed their plates away almost in sync.

“We’re done,” Rachel said grimly.

Finally, Mama spoke to him normally again, as if their earlier fight never happened. If only her amity had been under better circumstances. “You can’t just say that and brush past it, _mijo._ I think you have a lot of explaining to do.”

There was no anger in her tone, but the way she phrased it made Lance feel like he was in trouble or something. Like he’d been caught sneaking home hours after curfew, and now she had to call a ‘family meeting’ to discuss putting bars on the bedroom windows.

“What if _I’m_ not done?” Lance asked meekly, well aware that success in this endeavor was a long-shot.

Keith, supportive as ever, jumped right aboard. “I’m not done, either. This is delicious, Verita. Paprika?”

Lance sighed shakily and squeezed Keith’s hand tighter. _God, I love you, you amazing human._

Appreciated as the intervention was, it turned out to be pointless. Lance couldn’t have feigned surprise even if he wanted to. Sucky actors who had one another’s backs were still, at the end of the day, sucky actors.

“Lance.” Mama spoke low and firm. A rare but nonetheless effective tone from her. “This is very serious. We’re talking. Now.”

Veronica rose from her seat and wordlessly cleared her dishes. The other two women followed suit. Lance and Keith stayed put.

“You can’t force me to talk to you.” Petulance was not a good look on him. Lance might have felt embarrassed if he wasn’t so desperate. “I make my _own_ choices, thanks.”

Rachel’s voice was softer, but still made it clear he was losing this battle. “ _Hermano_. Come on. We love you, you know? We just want to make sure you’re okay.”

“At this point in time, I can assure you, I’m doing great.”

“And what about that entire year you were gone?” Veronica asked. “Were you doing great that whole time? Because you said ‘my abuse,’ and you sure as hell weren’t abused on my watch. When, Lance? When did that happen?” Her eyes flickered toward Keith, stared, then narrowed. “Unless...”

“ _No_ ,” Lance said, annoyed enough by the implication that he couldn’t even complain when Keith fixed Veronica with one of his patented death glares. “Keith has never hurt me. _Ever._ And, despite what some people might think of him, he never will.”

Out of his peripheral vision, Mama flinched. Should Lance have felt guilty for the satisfaction that gave him? He didn’t.

“Then tell us who, _mijo._ We want you to be safe. Help us believe you are.” Mama sniffled.

And – _oh._ Yep. There was the guilt.

What else could he say to divert their attention? What else could he do?

Nothing. Absolutely nothing.

McClain women: one point. Lance: zero.

“Okay,” Lance said, and anxiety seized control of his body as it caught wind of his white flag raised. “I...I’ll tell you about it. Guess you guys kind of deserve to know, anyway.”

“You don’t have to do this.” Keith stared at Lance, holding his gaze, as if he was the only other person in the room. A sea of sorrow and uncertainty crashed in his Dom’s eyes.

Lance gave a jerky nod. “I know I don’t.”

But the part of him that craved truth was still very much alive and kicking, and the longer it was exposed to this fresh air, the stronger it grew.

He wanted to. He wanted to tell them. Harboring such a horrible secret had taken an astronomically greater toll on his heart than he thought it would.

“Are you sure?” Keith asked.

“Yes. I’m sure.”

No, he wasn’t. Lance wasn’t sure at all. It seemed there was just as high a risk this would destroy him as there was a chance it would lift the heavy burden of dishonesty from his shoulders. Nobody could have said for sure what direction it would take.

But there was only one way to find out.


	144. get me out of here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Lance thought it was difficult to tell Alexander his story – to share all of his horror and trauma with a man who couldn’t have given less of a damn –
> 
> If that was difficult, then what did that make this?

If Lance thought it was difficult to tell Alexander his story – to share all of his horror and trauma with a man who couldn’t have given less of a damn –

If that was difficult, then what did that make _this?_

_Torture,_ his mind supplied helpfully. _Self-imposed torture._

Well. His mind wasn’t wrong. It definitely felt torturous.

Somehow, though, the words fell easily from his lips; a confession that had been a long time coming, now dusty and cobwebbed from all the time spent hiding in the shadows.

His Mama and sisters’ reactions were nothing like that of his father.

To their credit, the three really did try to hold their composure until his story had been fully weaved into their minds. Lance saw and felt despair radiate from his family, crashing off of them and onto him in waves. Their eyes welled, their hands shook in their laps, their lips trembled – and yet, they sat there in silence, focus locked on him...and _listened._

Kind of crazy, wasn’t it? Crazy how something as simple as being  truly  heard brought tears to his eyes. Crazy how an everyday occurrence in healthy families –  _support_ – stole his breath away, unexpected and unfamiliar as it was to him.

Lance closed his eyes and took a deep breath that shuddered, steeling his resolve to force out the final words.

“But Keith and his dads stuck it out with me, even after Alexander and I had that fallout at Christmas, and...well. Here we are. Things are pretty okay now.” _For the most part. Maybe? Kind of._

Silence fell over them, a thick, heavy blanket draped across his lungs to suffocate him. At once, Lance recognized the familiar tendrils of panic, which crept into those pressured lungs and trailed up to his brain. Dread, too, invaded his bloodstream like a poison. His heart palpitated in response to an unwanted stimuli.

Thank the cruel universe, though, for Keith’s hand wrapped tight and firm around his, the only thing that grounded him to earth. The only thing that kept him from floating away. Who knew how far he could have drifted without it?

Lance felt an urge to reassure them under the weight of those guilty eyes that bore into his soul. _It’s okay,_ he wanted to say. _It’s alright that you didn’t know; that was my doing. I didn’t want you to. You know now, though, and that’s what counts, right?_

But just like when he’d told Alexander, Lance was all talked out. Their aftermath of knowing an unbearable truth was, in comparison to his father’s, an entirely different beast, but his own was no different at all. Exhaustion and electric awareness vied for his attention.

Exhaustion won.

Lance leaned heavy against Keith and buried his face in the Dom’s shoulder. Perfect timing, too – because just as he did so, Mama began to sob.

Her crying was not loud at first. One gut-twisting noise was wrenched from her mouth, and he could tell by the sound of it that she muffled her voice with hands pressed against her face. This was only an insult to the injury, the cruel reminder that his mother had learned to keep her cries quiet lest they reignite Alexander’s anger.

Such was a relatively new development. He’d stopped hearing her sorrow in the dead of night a mere few months before he left for the Garrison, when he was still secretly conducting phone interviews with recruiters on the walk home from school and acing online entry quizzes while the world slept. At the time, Lance allowed himself the blindly optimistic belief that she’d stopped crying at night altogether.

But no. That optimism was dashed now, irrevocably. She hadn’t stopped crying. She’d only stopped letting her children endure it. Kind of selfless of her, in a twisted way.

Lance realized with a jolt and a skipped heartbeat that he wished he would have heard it those last few nights before he left. Mama learning first to cower and cry when Alexander beat her instead of fighting back, then learning to hide the fact she cried herself to sleep…

That couldn’t be a good sign, could it? It hadn’t been for him.

The sound of her stifled despondency was, to Lance’s ears, the sound of completely and utterly giving up.

And, _oh,_ there it was – the same numbness that followed the talked-out-ness, just like the last time he shared his story with a parent. Emotional overload; short-circuit. Blue screen error on his feelings.

Was it bad that he was getting used to this, feeling so much, so intensely, in such a short period of time that he soon failed to feel anything at all?

Maybe. Or maybe it was really a blessing, how he was saved from his own raging sea of terror and woe, though it was disconcerting to feel nothing. There had to be a clinical name for the sensation. He’d make a note to ask Heigel next time he saw her.

Lance was not even jarred out of his dazed, emotionless stupor when Rachel launched at him, wrapped her arms around his torso in a tight hug, and began to softly weep into his sleeve.

He could tell it was Rachel by the scent of strawberries that hit him on impact. Nostalgia was, apparently, also an emotion – because the smell that usually brought a surge of fond childhood memories along with it was now an empty one.

Veronica followed slower, gentler, and with less passion. Less passion wasn’t a bad thing, though. Her hands shook as she settled on the floor in front of the loveseat Lance and Keith occupied and took the five fingers Lance didn’t have curled into Keith’s shirt between her own.

“I’m sorry,” Veronica whispered, and he could tell by her choked voice that she, too, was crying. “ _Lance._ Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I love you so much, _hermano._ I’m _sorry_.”

That tone was completely unfamiliar on her. Wasn’t a great fit, honestly. Had he ever seen or even heard her cry? Now that he thought about it...no. Not since both their ages were in the single digits, in memories so fuzzy he couldn’t even have been sure they were real.

“I l-love you,” Rachel echoed against his shoulder, breath hitched. “Lance, _hermano,_ I’m s-so glad you got out of that safely. You could have...you could h-have _died._ I love you so m-much.”

Keith’s grip on him grew tighter. Lance was sure the fingers digging into his hip would find him with a sore spot in the morning. He couldn’t have cared less.

“You’re so brave, beautiful boy,” Keith whispered against the shell of his ear, surely too quiet for his sisters to make out the words. “I love you, sweetheart. More than anything. I know that wasn’t easy to talk about. You’re _so_ fucking brave.”

But Keith had no clue this wasn’t the first time Lance had shared his story outside the Wyler/Shirogane household. He’d kept the contents of his and Alexander’s private conversation secret for the fear – no, the _knowledge_ – that Keith would have marched right back up to the oncology ward and pummeled an already dying man until his knuckles were bloody. A lifemate jailed and consequently kept away from him was the last thing he needed in this season of his life.

“I love you, too.” Lance’s return whisper croaked, though he was nowhere within a thousand mile radius of shedding tears. Had he really used his voice that much? How long had their little one-way sharing session been? “ _Te amo, queirdo._ ‘M only brave because you’re strong enough for the both us.”

“You’ve never needed me to be strong. You just need someone around to remind you what you’re capable of. How fucking _powerful_ you are. You’re so goddamn powerful, Lance. You really have no idea.”

_Powerful._

Lance had never been called powerful before.

He liked it.

The circle of support, however much it cushioned him, was incomplete. One piece was missing.

Lance couldn’t blame Mama for not joining in on the group hug. She remained across the room, crying much harder than either of her daughters. Too hard to move, if he had to guess. Too hard to breathe.

He couldn’t begin to imagine how much pain she was in. How much it had to _destroy_ a mother to know her youngest baby had been violated and traumatized in the worst possible way. How this knowledge was going to be a whole ‘nother storm in her life, which was already one hell of a trainwreck.

She’d tried _so_ hard, in Lance’s earlier years, before Alexander rounded that corner, to instill her only sub child with a sense of belonging and pride. She’d tried with all her damn might to build him up like a fortress. No doubt Mama had held a newborn Lance the day he took his first breath and promised, _‘I’ll never let anything bad happen to you.’_

What a catastrophic revelation it must be to learn, nineteen years later, that she had failed.


	145. there is no love here (so what will you do?)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If this was love; if Keith was the kind of Dom a sub needed; if the kind of moment he laid in now was the foundation of the human experience...then his mother received none of these things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> happy Friday night/Saturday morning - this is the last chapter of act 9! 
> 
> the first chapter of act 10 will drop at noon EST!
> 
> enjoy!

“You’re so goddamn brave, my beautiful boy.”

A mouth, chapped but familiar and comforting, driven by passion but not lust, trailed down the side of his neck. The hands that held him in a protective embrace not an hour before were now exceedingly gentle. They rubbed his sides, exposed where his shirt was pulled halfway up, lightly enough that the touch tickled.

“I’m _so_ proud of you. Seriously. You have no fucking idea.”

Lance allowed a small sound to escape his mouth, neck arched, as a hickey was sucked against soft flesh with extreme care. Whether the sound was a whimper or a moan, he couldn’t quite tell. It seemed to fall somewhere in the middle. Telling of his mood, actually, when he thought about it.

A little bit relieved. A little bit sad. A lot a bit exhausted.

And so deeply, undeniably _loved._

“I l-love you, too.” Lance huffed a breath and watched as hairs from a disheveled mullet were ruffled by it. Another noise escaped him. Definitely a moan this time. “Keith – _Sir._ I love you.”

“I know, baby. We have so much love, don’t we? _So_ much. Sir knows.”

It killed him to think his mother hadn’t experienced such devotion and doting from her Dom in approximately fourteen years. The thought struck his chest, and his next sound was born more of sadness than anything (though a quick, murmured reassurance of _shh, baby, I’ve got you_ and a deep kiss brushed that sadness away with ease). It absolutely _destroyed_ his heart, the knowledge that Mama and so many other subs around the world would never experience a claim like this. Never be as lucky as him.

If what he and his mate had was an unfailing, invincible, eternal love – and Lance was certain beyond a shadow of a doubt that it was – then that love brought with it a heartbreaking realization.

If this was love; if Keith was the kind of Dom a sub needed; if the kind of moment he laid in now was the foundation of the human experience...then his mother received none of these things. No love. No proper, attentive, personally tailored domination. No true _life._

If this was love, then Alexander McClain had no love to give.

Lance tried to push those thoughts out of his mind as quickly as they appeared. Partially because they were very upsetting. Mostly, though, because thinking of his parents was starting to feel odd, what with the more explicit direction this makeout session was veering toward.

Would it be weird to have sex in his parents’ home with half his family sleeping off their shock and sadness just a floor above? Maybe. Maybe not. Frankly, Lance couldn’t have given less of a damn whether or not it was strange.

He _needed_ this.

He needed Keith’s mouth and hands on him, soft and sweet. Needed to profess his love and have love professed to him with more than mere words. Needed to arch his back and gasp out a _yes, Sir, please,_ when one hand finally dipped below the waist of his sweatpants and began to stroke him to hardness. Needed to _feel_ Keith, wholly and truly, bodies pressed together as two souls melded into one.

They _both_ needed a much-deserved, often sought after, but rarely granted peace.

And, besides – Lance didn’t really plan to ‘have sex’ with Keith tonight, chains and harnesses and all.

“You’re everything to me, sweetheart. _Everything_.”

“D-ditto, mullet.”

He planned to make love.


	146. [X] (turn away) if you could get me a drink of water

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Lance? Hey, beautiful.” A hand gently shook his back. “It’s time to wake up.”
> 
> Shadows flashed above him, the heavenly-soft surface he lied on shifted, and then the light returned. It shone ever so rudely against his closed eyelids, demanding his return to consciousness.
> 
> Lance released a dramatically loud groan. “Can’t wake up. I’m dead.”

**ACT TEN: CANCER**

**(chapters 146-157)**

 

* * *

 

["Cancer" - My Chemical Romance](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=wc2s9skF_58)

 

* * *

 

 "No one ever told me that grief felt so like fear." - C.S. Lewis

 

* * *

 

“Lance? Hey, beautiful.” A hand gently shook his back. “It’s time to wake up.”

Shadows flashed above him, the heavenly-soft surface he lied on shifted, and then the light returned. It shone ever so rudely against his closed eyelids, demanding his return to consciousness.

Lance released a dramatically loud groan. “Can’t wake up. I’m dead.”

“Mm. No, you’re not.”

“Tired. Sleeping. Goodbye.”

The next shake against his back was less gentle, and this time accompanied by an exasperated huff. “I’m pretty sure your mom’s making pancakes. I won’t hesitate to eat yours.”

“Keith? She raised five kids. I’m pretty sure she’ll make enough to feed our entire graduating class at U.A.A.”

Keith prodded a finger at his side. Lance moved a hand to blindly bat him away. His gesture was weak, but he wasn’t poked again; mission accomplished.

“So now you’re bragging about not being an only child? You’ve got a bad attitude, mister. Sir doesn’t like that very much.”

“Sir isn’t here. Keith’s here. Keith likes it very much when I get adequate rest. Goodnight.”

“’ _Goodnight.’_ It’s nine in the morning, genius. You slept for, like, eleven hours.”

 _That_ got Lance’s attention – but maybe that was the point. He rolled from his stomach to his back, kicked the covers off, and gazed blearily up at his Dom. “I did _what?_ ”

Keith’s smirk of triumph was expected. The glimmer of concern in his eyes, not so much.

“Slept for eleven hours, birdbrain,” he said. “I know we’re growing up and all, but do you seriously need hearing aids already? Have any grey hairs yet?”

Lance shook his head. Partially in denial of the teasing questions, but mostly in denial of Keith’s seeming determination to be light and playful when he so clearly wasn’t feeling it.

“I’m still getting over the flu,” Lance said cautiously. He wrapped his fingers around Keith’s and squeezed tight. Keith dropped his eyes to their joined hands. “It’s normal for sick people to sleep a lot. You know that, right? Don’t be worried. I actually feel a lot better today.”

Whether that was due to his long, healing sleep or the ton-heavy weight that had been lifted from his shoulders the night before, no one could say. Lance liked to think it was both. Regardless, the world looked a little brighter this morning. He had no complaints.

“I know,” Keith said, still staring downward. His thumb rubbed mindlessly over the back of Lance’s hand. “I’m not worried.”

“Then why do you look like that?"

“Look like what?” Keith lifted his head and frowned. The effort to smooth out his concern was visible. “I don’t look like anything. This is just my face. And you’re kind of stuck with it, so...”

“ _Keith._ Babe. Come on.” Lance sat up. He groaned as stiff muscles creaked and cracked, then leaned in to kiss his Dom’s cheek. “As if I can’t tell when you’re overthinking. I think I know you well enough by now.”

_Think again._

Keith took a deep breath. “I’m not worried about how long you slept. I’m worried because your family invited us to go see the Sperm Donor with them after breakfast.”

Lance deflated. All his oxygen and well-rested cheer left him in a rush. “Oh.”

“Yeah...do you want to?” Keith’s eyes flitted nervously across his sub’s face, nose creased, brows pinched. He made no more effort to hide his fretting. “We don’t have to, Lance. We can go see him, or we can just have breakfast and go back to the dorm. Your call.”

Honestly? Both those options sucked. He wanted to write in a third: hide out in this guest room until his family left, then make a break for it once the coast was clear. Lance had no desire to share another meal with his mother and sisters. Which was really saying something, since he maintained that Mama’s pancakes were the best in the world (sorry, Adam).

After all – look at what eating together had wrought last time.

Nevermind the extreme awkwardness he would surely have to endure now that they all _knew._

But…

“I want to. I want to see him.”

The urge to take it back was immediate. Keith looked at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted a second head, and Lance swallowed back bile when it crept up his throat. 

“Don’t make your decisions based on what anyone else wants,” Keith said firmly. “This is up to _you._ If you don’t want to go, they can get over it.”

“No, Keith, _I_ want to go. I do. If I stop showing up, he’s just going to die thinking he ‘won’ or something. Let him see me. Let him see I don’t care anymore. He hasn’t beat me at any of his stupid little games, and I’m not going to let him think he has.”

Keith stared for another long moment, indecision and anguish plain to see in his eyes. Then he lifted Lance’s hand and pressed kisses along his knuckles.

“Okay,” he murmured against the skin. “If that’s what you really want.”

Lance caught a glimpse of the exit sign his Dom offered and forced himself to steel his resolve. “It is.”

Did he really want to see his father, or bear the awkwardness of breakfast? Not in the slightest. 

But like hell was he going to let the side of the abusers win.


	147. cause my lips are chapped and faded

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alexander was...really suffering. In sleep, the man was left vulnerable, with no access to the many masks he relied so heavily on. His complexion was shockingly pale, entire face drawn and pinched, breaths shallow, quick, and far too audible.
> 
> And his hair.
> 
> Or, rather, the lack of it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ooofff...things getting heavy up in this hospital m8s. on the upside...I have a SURPRISE for you in the next chapter...a good one, for once... :)
> 
> enjoy!

Alexander was sound asleep when a party of five entered his hospital room. Immediately, the question Rachel had asked at dinner the night before made perfect sense.

_Is he still in a lot of pain?_

God, yes.

Obviously. Undoubtedly. Very, very much so.

But what sucked most about it – what stabbed a dagger of guilt into his chest, sharp pain striking with every inhale – was that Lance could not bring himself to care.

That was terrible, wasn’t it? Abusive dick or not, Alexander was... _really_ suffering. In sleep, the man was left vulnerable, with no access to the many masks he relied so heavily on. His complexion was shockingly pale, entire face drawn and pinched, breaths shallow, quick, and far too audible.

And his _hair._

Or, rather, the lack of it.

Lance fought to keep his jaw from falling unhinged as he stopped in the center of the room, limbs suddenly numb, and stared.

Alexander wasn’t on chemotherapy, nor did he receive radiation. He’d made it clear he thought treatment was useless in his case, what with the severity his tumor had already reached by the time of diagnosis...which, admittedly, made sense. Would all the pain and severe side effects of pumping poison through his veins have been worth a few extra weeks? What would the point of those extra weeks be if he spent the entirety of them in misery?

At least this way, he’d gotten a couple more months of feigned normalcy in before the pain grew worse than an occasional headache, before his impairments were more than just difficulty finding the right words in conversation and excessive drowsiness. Deeply as it pained him to compare himself to this man or to consider ever making the same choices as him, Lance thought he probably would have refused treatment, too.

But Alexander couldn’t have outrun this part forever. Misery had been standing on his doorstep, pestering him with relentless knocking, ever since his diagnosis in February, and he’d surely heard it all the while.

As it turned out, misery got impatient after a while. It kicked the door down with no warning. _Guess who’s here, motherfucker?_

Lance interrupted his mother’s whispered conversation with a nurse (‘how was he during the night?’ ‘no change; making him as comfortable as we can; so very sorry’) to ask: “Why did you shave his head? He wasn’t losing his hair. He’s not on chemo.”

The nurse gave him a sorrowful, mildly panicked look.

“We had to run some tests, sweetie,” she said in a saccharin voice that grated on Lance’s nerves, then turned to Mama. “I was just about to get a hat to keep his head warm when you came in. I’m very sorry the kids had to see him like this. I know it can be a shock to see a parent so sick.”

 _The kids._ How old did she think they were?

Whatever.

“What tests?” He asked.

The nurse fish-mouthed, glancing between him and Mama. Her gaze did not settle on Lance until Mama gave permission via a soft nod.

“Just a transcranial ultrasound, love,” Sickly-Sweet Nurse said. “We wanted to make sure one last time that the tumor really is inoperable. Unfortunately, we were correct, and there’s no way for us to surgically remove the mass. Don’t worry; the test was nothing invasive. It didn’t hurt.”

Was a nurse working under a nationally renowned oncologist _allowed_ to be this condescending? She looked at and spoke to him as if he were a five year old bracing himself to grow up without a father. That had to be against some sort of rule.

Nevermind the way she assumed he needed a reassurance that Alexander’s test hadn’t caused him pain. The way she assumed he _cared._

What a silly mistake.

Keith’s hand squeezed his tight where they both hung intertwined. Lance suddenly realized how tense he must have grown during the walk from the hospital entrance to the oncology ward. The Dom’s fingers had already been crushed in a vice-like grip for God knew how long, but he said nothing of it.

Lance rubbed his thumb over the back of Keith’s hand in silent apology, and made a deliberate attempt to seethe the tautness of his body out through clenched teeth.

It didn’t work. If anything, he held on tighter. Keith wasn’t one to take issue with his sub using his fingers like a stress ball, though. He bore the cut-off circulation without complaint.

Anybody who ever dared to say his Dom was not a generous man would catch two religiously-moisturized hands.

Rachel bit her lip, swayed in place, and shifted her weight from foot to foot. Veronica stood still and silent enough that she could have been mistaken for a statue.

“I knew it,” Rachel said to the other three young adults in a hushed tone. “I knew he was in more pain than he was letting on. Just look at him.”

“Yep.” Veronica’s voice was monotone; chilled. “Looks miserable.”

“I just saw him on Wednesday,” Lance said with a wince. “He seemed totally fine. Like his normal self. That’s...really weird.”

Veronica finally moved, head turning to glance back at him. “I mean – there’s only a few weeks left now. From what I’ve read, it’s going to get a lot worse.”

He was supposed to feel bad for that. Supposed to feel empathy for his own father’s pain and even worse pain to come. Lance _knew_ he was supposed to, expected to, knew he would be regarded as callous and cruel if he admitted his true feelings out loud.

Lance couldn’t feel empathy for the pain of a man who’d caused his own flesh and blood, not to mention his own sub, so much pain of their own. He liked to think of himself as a compassionate person most days, but...maybe he wasn’t as kind as everyone thought.

“A lot worse,” he repeated numbly. “Okay.”

Good thing he didn’t give much of a damn what everyone thought.


	148. call my aunt marie, help her gather all my things

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I need some air.”
> 
> The excuse was a bullshit one, and Keith knew it. Judging by the eyebrow-raised look his sub shot him, Lance knew it, too. The waiting room air would be no fresher than the air at Alexander’s bedside.
> 
> But therein lied the problem – this air was at Alexander’s bedside.

“I need some air.”

The excuse was a bullshit one, and Keith knew it. Judging by the eyebrow-raised look his sub shot him, Lance knew it, too. The waiting room air would be no fresher than the air at Alexander’s bedside.

But therein lied the problem – this air was at _Alexander’s bedside._

If being in a hospital was, by itself, not enough to make Keith vomit, the concept of breathing the same air as Lance’s sperm donor sure as hell was. Oxygen entered that disgusting man’s lungs, he released carbon dioxide back into the room to poison the rest of them, and –

Yeah. He needed some _different_ air.

Lance, fucking bless that sweet boy, gave no indication that he found any oddity in the way Keith stumbled to his feet and swayed in place. “Okay. Take your time.”

Keith ignored the pinprick of concern in his sub’s eyes, though doing so spiked a sense of guilt. He had more pressing things to worry about in that moment. Things like not projectile vomiting all over the oncology ward.

As it turned out, he was wrong. Breathing was a significantly easier task to undertake away from the beep-beep-beeping which showcased Alexander’s steady heart rate and sats while he slept.

 _Not_ being constantly reminded that a man he ardently believed deserved death still lived on made him feel less puke-y. Imagine that.

A shaky hand pressed over his chest reassured him his own heart, while pounding terribly, still beat on. More calming sounds of barely-audible television news reports, quiet phone rings, and carts rolled around by orderlies washed over him. Keith never thought he’d consider the noise of medical-center bustle soothing, but _fuck._ In comparison? Might as well have been a damn lullaby.

Cheap chairs with deceivingly thankless cushions, however, weren’t as alluring as softer background noise and more chilled air. Regardless, he probably should have sat to collect himself.

Keith ended up being damn glad he didn’t.

Instead, he leaned against one end of the semi-circle nurse’s station. The seat on the other side was abandoned. Good thing. If somebody asked if they could help him, he would have undoubtedly snapped, what with his anxiety-hijacked mindset. One elbow propped him heavily against the counter, and Keith counted mentally, _four-seven-eight._ Eyes slowly fluttered shut. Disturbingly bright hospital fluorescents shone against closed lids.

That was fine. He could close his eyes. It was safe. He wasn’t a thirteen year old with severe internal bleeding being rushed into surgery, crying for his dead parents, begging the cruel world to grant him a ‘forever home’ or whatever dumb shit the foster people called adoption.

He was safe, safe, _safe._

Another phone rang. “I’ll be right with you, dear. Hello, Plant City Regional’s oncology department, Nurse Jenna speaking...”

Keith’s eyes snapped open. Amid belief he was the one being addressed by a stranger as ‘dear,’ that all too familiar fight-or-flight response was activated. Flight as in scurry as far away as possible, likely not making it outside before fear of leaving Lance alone convinced him to turn back. Fight as in the urge to snap, _did I fucking say I needed help? Do I look like I want to talk right now? Fuck off._

But no. As his vision was reinstated, the situation oriented itself. A relatively young man stood at the forefront of the station’s curve, looking exhausted but patiently awaiting that promised assistance as the nurse took her call.

Gratitude that he hadn’t heeded either of the options his body presented flooded his chest cavity. Especially gratitude he hadn’t selected ‘fight.’ That would have been really fucking embarrassing.

Cold dread settled in his gut – stupidly, needlessly, ridiculously – when the man turned his head and caught Keith’s eye. Said icy sensation made a reluctant exit soon after. Their mutually unintentional meeting of gazes was followed by his fellow visitor’s flash of a friendly smile. Weird how its warmth melted his fear so easily. Such soothed responses had always been reserved for Lance and Lance alone.

But, to be fair, the man did bear some vague resemblance to his sub. Perhaps it was just the light brown skin, blue eyes, and windswept yet still perfect hair that found a home in his building panic.

“Sorry,” the man said in a hushed tone and gestured toward the nurse. “You were probably here first, weren’t you? You can go ahead.”

“No.” Keith swallowed around a dry lump in his throat. His head shake was jerky, erratic. “No, I don’t need help. Just...different air.”

“Different air? Ah, I get it. Hard patient. Think I’m about to have one of those myself.”

 _Hard patient_. This guy had no fucking clue.

“Yeah. Guess you could say that.”

Behind the man, two small children ran in a circular game of chase, squealing loudly with delight. He outed himself as their father by immediately putting on a stern frown and whirling toward them.

But a pretty, slightly lighter-skinned woman – the man’s mate, presumably – already knelt before the now sulking kids, one hand gentle but firm on either child’s wrist.

“Sick people are _sleeping,_ ” she hissed. “I told you before we came in to keep your voices down. One more time and you’ll both be in the corner, understood?”

The little girl stomped her foot and pouted harder while her brother made a low whining sound. The man’s much less strict utterance of, _listen to your mother, please,_ was overrun by the other parent’s growled threat of an ice cream-less afternoon. _That_ earned instant compliance.

Once the children were subdued and led over to an empty row of chairs, the man turned back toward Keith with a sheepish smile.

“I’m sorry about that,” he said. “Their first time in a hospital; I don’t think they quite understand. Hope they didn’t disturb whatever patient’s got you so down.”

Keith shrugged halfheartedly. “I hope they did.”

Before the man could offer any more response than a blank stare and one slow blink, his attention was diverted. Nurse Jenna set the phone down and heaved a weary sigh.

“Sorry about the wait, hon,” she said. “Can I help you find someone?”

Keith felt panic resurface and turn his legs to jelly, complete with a high dosage of confusion, when the kind stranger said:

“I’m looking for Alexander McClain.”


	149. and bury me in all my favorite colors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith gripped the edge of the counter tight as his legs once again threatened to give way. The stranger – who, apparently, wasn’t so much of a stranger – looked back toward him with a frown.
> 
> “You’re...” Keith sputtered stupidly. “...I’m...”

The nurse smiled. “Are you family?”

“I am.”

_What the fuck?_

“Alright, hon. Give me a second to pull up the room number for you.”

“Of course. Thank you, ma’am.”

Keith gripped the edge of the counter tight as his legs once again threatened to give way. The stranger – who, apparently, wasn’t so much of a stranger – looked back toward him with a frown.

“You’re...” Keith sputtered stupidly. “... _I’m_...”

“You alright there, kid?” The man spoke slowly, took a few hesitant steps toward him, outreached a hand in offering of help. “You don’t look so good.”

Keith flinched away from the potential touch. It was immediately withdrawn. Concern deepened visibly in the other’s eyes. A familiar concern, from _extremely_ familiar eyes – but they shouldn’t have been. He’d never met this guy before.

Yet, somehow, Keith knew him. He _knew_ he knew him.

Of all the confusion, of all the questions he wanted to demand answers to, what ended up spilling from trembling lips was: “Who the hell are you?”

Suddenly, he wasn’t the only one confused. ‘Baffled’ would have actually been a more apt description of the man’s expression.

“That depends.” Those blue eyes narrowed and scanned him. The steps forward were retracted. “Who’s asking?”

Not just blue eyes. _Ocean_ blue eyes. Two kids and a sub alongside him; here to see Alexander.

_Holy shit._

“Luis,” Keith said. “That’s your name, right? You’re Lance’s brother.”

The man – _Luis_ – relaxed marginally. His shoulders fell open, and a spark of interest flickered over his face. Curiosity shone, a bright light in their midnight-black situation. He was so damn _expressive._

Just like Lance.

“Yeah,” he said almost eagerly. “You know Lance?”

“I’m his Dom.”

Immediately, Keith regretted sharing that. He hadn’t the slightest damn idea how much Lance’s brothers knew. If they were aware just how extensively the McClain baby’s life had changed over the past year. Did they even know he was bi?

There was no need for his worry, though. Keith’s admission was not met with a flinch, grimace, or eye roll like he feared it might be. Luis only smiled.

“Ah, so _you’re_ the flawless, holy Keith.” The words, much to Keith’s horror, sent warmth spreading from his ears to his cheekbones. Luis extended a hand. “Nice to finally meet you. You must be a great guy – Lance practically sang worship praises when we last talked.”

And then Keith’s face was not the only thing that garnered a soft heat. His heart melted. He swore he could feel it oozing all over his ribs. It took a moment of floundering before he realized the extended hand was meant for him to shake, and he did so numbly.

“He talks about me?” Keith asked, voice ridden with awe.

Luis bared pearly teeth, his little smile turning full-fledged.

“More than anything.”

Lance’s voice flashed through his mind. _I love you. More than anything._

Talk about a fucking family resemblance.

Keith blinked furiously in an attempt to keep the tears at bay. The last thing he needed to do while meeting his sub’s older brother was show incompetence via weakness. There were too many horror stories out there about Doms getting torn to shreds by protective, older in-laws; he’d rather not become just another inspired-by-true-events television crime special.

“Oh,” he said in a shaky voice – which, honestly, wasn’t much better than the tears he’d just avoided. “I...didn’t know that. That’s cool. That’s...good.”

“I’ve got that room number for you, honey, the nurse said suddenly, glancing between the two of them.

Luis shook his head. “Thank you, but I’ve got it. My friend here can show me the way.”

Keith gulped and fought the urge to groan in disappointment. His brain griped, _oh, God. Seriously? Please don’t make me go back in there with you._

In contrast, his mouth said, “Yeah. Come on, it’s right down here.”

Call it survival instinct. Those late-night crime reenactments were damn scary.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> oh and I know I've said this at least 5 thousand times but...y'all freakin out in the comment section? never gets old, fam :)


	150. my sisters and my brothers, still, i will not kiss you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “...and orange tiger lilies. No white flowers at my funeral. White flowers are dull.”
> 
> Lance surfaced from his tsunami of warring thoughts and emotions to hear this, and immediately regretted not letting the tidal wave drag him into the ocean’s depths.

“...and orange tiger lilies. No white flowers at my funeral. White flowers are dull.”

Lance surfaced from his tsunami of warring thoughts and emotions to hear _this_ , and immediately regretted not letting the tidal wave drag him into the ocean’s depths.

For the brief time he’d been awake, Alexander had filled the room with instructions for his sub. Instructions as to how his ‘arrangements’ should be made. He rattled off detail after tiny detail as though he wouldn’t get another chance.

Though, to be fair: he might _not_ get another chance. At this stage, the privilege of seeing another day break could not be guaranteed.

But still. White flowers were _dull?_ He wanted bright, exuberant colors to accompany him six feet under, to rest atop his fresh grave? A color of flower that symbolized excitement and enthusiasm rather than grief?

_Well,_ Lance thought bitterly. _Don’t curse our names from the pits of hell when we pop champagne. You literally asked for it._

Lance felt oddly chagrined by his father’s demands, but Mama displayed no such resentment or resistance. She only bit her lip, fingers twisting together in her lap, and nodded.

“Of course, _querido_ ,” she said. “Orange tiger lilies. No white flowers. I’ve got it.”

“Well? Shouldn’t you be writing all this down or something?”

Mama gulped visibly. “No need. I’ll remember. I promise.”

Alexander narrowed his eyes and gave her an appraising once-over. Lance was momentarily overwhelmed by a very Keith-esque urge to rip a dying man’s eyes from his very skull, just so he could never look at her that way again. How dare he look at Mama with anything but the utmost devotion and love? How _dare_ he?

“Mm...okay,” Alexander said after a moment, slow and measured. “Now – hors d’oeuvres, for the reception...”

Lance never did get to hear what outlandish snacks Alexander wanted served at his funeral’s after party – excuse him, _reception_. The door creaked open, and he let his father’s demands, his mother’s fear-induced cooperation, and his sisters’ sullen, downward gazes fade into the background. He turned in his chair, hoping Keith had somehow managed to calm himself in record time, but knowing it was more likely one of the frequent nurse check-ins.

Much to his surprise and relief, the unlikely won out. Keith stood in the doorway. His eyes were tired and his complexion was paler than normal, but he no longer seemed to be five seconds away from exploding into a panic attack.

Keith... _stood_ in the doorway. Cracked the door open just far enough to stick his head and one foot around it. Made no move to enter. He caught his sub’s eye and pointedly cleared his throat. Behind Lance, Alexander’s voice came to an abrupt halt.

“Found something that belongs to you guys,” Keith said shortly once he had the room’s attention. “Thought you might want to see it.”

Before he could ask if his Dom was suffering a panic-induced lack of oxygen to the brain, Keith shoved the door open the rest of the way. Four sharp inhales of varying severity sounded behind him. Lance only stared.

Luis stood behind Keith, shuffling his feet nervously. The small, sheepish smile his eldest brother wore was familiar, but the lines and dark shadows that framed his eyes were not.

“Hey, guys,” Luis said, voice milk-and-honey warm over the tension in the room. “Long time, no see.” His gaze lingered on Lance with this last statement.

_Long time, no see._

That was one mild way to put it.


	151. (now turn away) cause i'm awful just to see

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance was moving across the room before he could even register instructing his body to do so. The steps he took stemmed from numb feet and jelly legs.

Lance was moving across the room before he could even register instructing his body to do so. The steps he took stemmed from numb feet and jelly legs.

“Luis,” Mama breathed out in the background, and Luis’s eyes flickered uncertainly between her and his approaching little brother. “ _Mijo._ You...you’re here.”

_Self-explanatory,_ Lance felt urged to say in his dazed state, but he bit his tongue.

“Yeah,” Luis said. Soft. Kind. “I’m here, Mama. You know I can’t go long without your _pastelitos_.”

_God._ He hadn’t changed at all. Unlike most of the nostalgia bouts Lance had been experiencing lately, there was no bitter to this sweetness. It was all warm. All _good._

Lance interrupted the reunion of mother and son, and he didn’t feel bad for it. “I’ve missed you, _hermano_. So much. God, Luis, I...”

He felt no guilt for stealing the first reunion hug, either. How could he? Luis had the _best_ hugs. Anyone would have done it.

And, to be fair, Lance didn’t acquire the hug solely via his own sticky fingers. Luis was his partner in crime. Lance tripped over the last step toward his eldest sibling, and strong, gentle arms awaited him, broad and muscled chest ready to pillow his head.

“I know, buddy,” Luis murmured against his hairline as Lance nuzzled into his chest with wordless, gasping breaths. “I missed you, too. You really have no idea.”

“Th-think I do,” Lance whispered, then sniffled, though his eyes were dry. “ _You_ have no idea.”

Luis huffed out a little laugh. “Think again. Agree to disagree, I guess.”

“Yeah.” Lance forced this word from his trembling mouth, mostly because he couldn’t think of anything else to say. “Y-yeah.”

And, of course, they both forgot one vital piece to this beautiful puzzle. One ugly, jagged corner piece Lance personally thought the picture would have been better off without.

Alexander cleared his throat. “And just who the hell gave you permission to show up in my hospital room? Unannounced? Uninvited? You’ve got some _cahoonas_ on you, kid.”

Luis stiffened in the embrace. Lance closed his eyes, swallowed thickly, and held on for dear life.

_Please don’t let go. Don’t let go. I’m not ready to let you go._

“ _I_ gave me permission.” Luis’s tone was low and deep, the vaguest hint of a growl creating comfortable vibrations from his throat to the top of Lance’s head. “I have a right to see my own family. They have a right to see me.”

“Oh, do they?” Alexander scoffed. “Because I was under the impression patients get to control who does and doesn’t visit them.”

“What are you going to do, hm? Climb your frail ass out of that deathbed and hit me? Go ahead. Kick me out. I’m waiting.”

Even without looking, it was clear to Lance the room had gone tense and deathly still. He, for one, breathed a sigh of relief as Alexander was handed a sample of his own verbal pummeling.

_About damn time._

Alexander seemed to suffer a short-circuit. He sputtered unintelligibly and hissed, like a _cat_ or something.

“Don’t you _ever_ speak to me that way,” he growled, and only further enraged himself when his voice broke on the last word. “I’m your _father,_ you disrespectful piece of shit. Get the hell out of my room.”

“I’m pretty sure I’ve made myself clear.” Luis hummed thoughtfully. “But, just in case I haven’t, let me repeat it in simpler terms: _make me._ ”

Mama gasped. Somewhere, a hand fell heavy onto the arm of a chair. Awfully dramatic, if you asked Lance.

Luis was exactly right. Why should they fear Alexander? He was confined to a hospital bed, infested with wires and pumped full of painkillers, slow and sluggish. It was likely nothing but his own, unadulterated willpower at this point that kept him pushing his persona of authority and pride.

And, oh, _respect?_ Lance wasn’t sure whether he should shudder or laugh. Of course Luis was being disrespectful; he was a smart man.

Smart people knew better than to grant respect to those who hadn’t earned it.

Even to say Alexander hadn’t earned it was a stretch. Not earning it was ground zero. This man was at least a million points into the negative. Or perhaps billions of points. One for every dollar that had corrupted him.

“Know what?” Lance’s breath shuddered as he leaned back just far enough to look his brother in the eye. “He’s right. Let’s go back into the hall. We should be able to catch up without that pesky fly buzzing in our ears.”

Out of his peripheral vision, Keith’s expression of anxiety and moderate concern melted into something much softer. Something distinctly proud.

One corner of Luis’s mouth flicked up. He ruffled Lance’s hair playfully, and Lance felt the tips of his ears heat. “You’ve got it, _hermano._ You gotta tell me all about this shiny new Dom of yours.”

Alexander sputtered again. The three of them left the sound behind them as the door swung closed.

_Not today, Satan._


	152. cause all my hair's abandoned all my body (oh, my agony)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “So...putting that circus aside: what’s new in your life, bud?” Luis smiled. “Besides your sparkly new Dom. Who has my stamp of approval, by the way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'M SORRY THIS TOOK SO LONG MY INTERNET WAS OUT FOR LIKE TWO DAYS

“So...putting that circus aside: what’s new in your life, bud?” Luis smiled. “Besides your sparkly new Dom. Who has my stamp of approval, by the way.”

Lance expected the question. He was, after all, the one who suggested they go into this hall to ‘catch up.’ Muscles tensed as it was asked all the same, his shoulders tightening more than should have been humanly possible. He couldn’t even work through the wave of anxiety well enough to enjoy that faint blush gracing his Dom’s cheeks at the _stamp of approval_ comment.

Keith must have sensed his mood shift. One slightly smaller, shorter-fingered hand traced his palm in a silent request for permission. Lance accepted by intertwining their fingers together and squeezing hard.

He kept his response purposely vague, pairing it up with a nonchalant shrug. “Graduated from the Garrison, but you probably figured. Keith and I are both going to U.A.A. full time now.”

Luis released a low whistle. If it were even possible, his eyes turned their brightness up another notch. It _shouldn’t_ have been possible. Lord knew Luis was already a ray of pure sunshine.

“Damn,” he said with a chuckle. “I knew you were a smart kid. Do you think you’ll for a career in piloting? What’s your major?”

“Oh, I definitely will.” In spite of himself, Lance’s own mouth curled upward at the simple yet exhilarating thought of _being a pilot._ “And exactly what you’d expect my major to be – Combat Piloting. Keith’s doing Central Command. It’s a combination of, like, leadership training, pilot training, and engineering, since you need a bunch of different skills to work from a big command hub. He likes the engineering classes most. He’s a nerd like that.”

Keith made a squawking kind of noise, eyes wide and indignant as they stared the sub down, blush deepening just a little. Lance only grinned. Partially for amusement over his Dom’s embarrassment – and partially because the true, open-mouthed, tinkling laugh Luis released was music to his ears.

“Well, that’s great and all, and I do wanna get to know Keith, don’t get me wrong.” Pacing a few snail’s steps ahead of them, hands stuffed in his pockets, a still-smiling Luis shot a ‘look’ over his shoulder, one eyebrow quirked. “...but I’m pretty sure I asked about my baby brother’s life, not his mate’s.”

Lance winced and averted his gaze to the linoleum. “Yeah. You did.”

“If you’re going to get all bashful about it, I’ll just ask Keith,” Luis said, the vague threat brimmed with teasing. “Something tells me he’d have no problem rambling on and on about you and everything I’m sure you accomplished at the Garrison. How many awards did you win? Seventy-three?”

 _Is ‘brutally raped eight times’ an award, or nah?_ “Ha. Yeah, uh, something like that. Lots and lots of...awards.”

Keith pressed their hands impossibly tighter, infinitely closer. Sympathy oozed through the touch.

When Lance braved a glance up in the quiet that followed, Luis’s expression was only partially still amused. It was a breath of fresh-air relief that he seemed neither suspicious nor concerned, only puzzled.

“Alrighty then,” he said slowly, as if weirded out of his curiosity. “Touchy subject, I guess. What, was the Garrison really sucky? Doesn’t live up to the hype?”

Keith spoke up for him. Lance was grateful his answer flowed naturally, no shortened syllables or clipped words. “It really doesn’t. Super pretentious, you know? The education’s good and all. It was just the people.”

“Don’t both your fathers work at the Garrison? Lance said so when we spoke on the phone, at least.”

“People as in the students.”

“ _Ah._ I got you. Yeah, rich kids can be pretty big dicks. We grew up playing in neighborhoods full of ‘em. House full, too.”

Luis winked, apparently oblivious that he was the only one still working to keep the atmosphere light. Both the younger boys forced smiles onto their faces. There was another of Luis’s personality traits which Lance was exceedingly thankful had stuck around throughout the years: gullibility. Almost to the point of foolishness.

He had no qualms with it before, and he certainly didn’t now. Let foolishness cloud the natural cleverness all the McClain children had inherited from their father. It certainly served Lance much better in that moment.

“Speaking of kids!” His heart pounded and his mood perked as he saw an opportunity branch out and, of course, climbed it with vigor. “Where’s my favorite niece and nephew? Don’t tell me you came to visit and didn’t bring them.”

“’Course I brought the kids. You think Nadia and Sylvio would _ever_ let me travel out of state without them? Hell, they cling to my legs when I step outside to get a package off the porch.”

Keith had little to no interest in children, Lance knew all too well. He jumped right aboard as if he did. _Bless your sweet, sweet soul, Mister Kogane._

“I’d love to meet them,” Keith said ( _lied_ ). “Are they here now?”

Luis gestured a nod toward the double doors at the far end of the hall they paced down. “Yeah, they’re right out in the waiting room with Lisa. They were being too loud, so I didn’t bring them back – but, seeing how Alexander reacted, I’m glad I didn’t. We’ve limited their contact with him so far for good reason. If that wasn’t one neon sign of a reminder, then I don’t know what is.”

Lance was warmed that he was not the only child in the family who’d lost affection for the term _Papi,_ who’d realized Alexander was undeserving of that status as a loving and loved father. What a strange thing to feel warmed by.

Keith opened his mouth, no doubt to reinforce how much he really, totally, definitely wanted to meet a couple of too-loud rugrats – but somebody else beat him to it.

A door opened and swung shut down the hall, back the way they’d come. Two pairs of footsteps scurried on the squeaky-clean floor behind them. One voice whisper-shouted, _Luis!_ while another huffed a soft, _hermano, wait up._

Within seconds, Luis found himself with two separate armfuls of sister. What had to be a record-breaking grin split his face as he returned their _love you_ ’s and _missed you_ ’s.

Keith’s shoulder-slumping sigh of relief likely stemmed from, _thank fuck, I might not have to interact with two sticky little brats, after all._ Lance’s, on the other hand, stemmed from the lucky avoidance of having to share his depressing story with family for the second day in a row. His relief was also much weaker than Keith’s.

Because the door to Alexander’s room did not open again. Mama did not abandon her pathetic excuse for a lifemate to join the hug-fest. She stayed put, faithful and loyal. She picked Alexander’s side. But of course she did. Didn’t seem like she had much of a choice.

Had she ever?


	153. baby i'm just soggy from the chemo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mama took no time at all to make her decision.
> 
> Of course, everyone already knew what that decision would be.

Mama took no time at all to make her decision.

Of course, everyone already knew what that decision would be. Alexander’s smug little smirk as he asked about her plans for the day spoke volumes. The expressions of Lance’s Dom and siblings, which all suddenly morphed into anger and sorrow of varying degrees, spoke agreement to his own anticipation.

“I...I think I’m going to – stay and sit with your Papi for a while, kids.” Mama looked up at them through eyes that glistened with something suspiciously similar to remorse, one gentle hand resting on the crook of her Dom’s elbow. Her fingers intertwined with the wires that protruded from his skin as if in a romantic gesture of hand-holding. “I don’t think it’s fair he be left alone so long while we all relax at the house. Besides, he and I didn’t really get much time together yesterday.”

_Didn’t get much time together yesterday._ Whether or not Mama meant that in regards to the terrible turn their dinner had taken – something she’d still yet to address – Lance had no idea. Her eyes flickered briefly over him as she said it, though, then flew away as if it scorched her corneas to rest too long on his own, and that did give him the _beginnings_ of an idea.

She, like Veronica and Rachel, was walking on eggshells around him. The three women kept their words to Lance bare, their eye contact brief, and their touches as painstakingly gentle as the way one might handle a century-old art museum piece.

That is, if they dared touch him at all. Very rarely that day had they even tried.

Lance couldn’t find a kind way to voice that, while he appreciated their concern and their excessive care for this feelings, the only thing that had changed between this week and last was now they _knew._ If a sister or mother’s hand resting on his arm hadn’t sent him spiraling into panic seven days before, by no means would it do so now.

Lance couldn’t find a kind way to voice it – so he locked the words up in his brain instead, saved them for a better time. If better times just so happened to stumble upon them someday; rediscovered them like old friends.

God, he hoped they would.

“Okay,” Luis, to absolutely nobody’s surprise, was the first to speak up in acceptance. He continued to smile as he had been, but now, it looked far too forced. “The girls wanted to show me your new place, so we’re going to head out. But you’re right, Mama. Somebody should stay with him. We understand.”

_No, we don’t._ Lance bit his tongue against the thought. In the same second, Veronica, standing at his side, mumbled something that sounded a hell of a lot like _‘speak for yourself’_ down at her shuffling feet.

There was an obnoxious scoff. “Like _you_ would know anything about sticking around for someone. You and Marco practically abandoned me. Abandoned the entire family. All three of you boys did.”

Alexander. _Alexander._ Butting into the conversation, sticking his nose where it just barely belonged, as usual.

Lance had a fleeting, vengeful wish that his father’s bedridden lungs would once again grow addled with an infection to stutter his breath, to make speech near impossible, and he was struck square in the chest with a strange stab of guilt. Strange because it wasn’t guilt for the thought...it was guilt of _not_ feeling guilty for the thought. A disassociated guilt. Guilt’s cousin twice removed.

Strange, strange, strange. But what in his life wasn’t strange lately? Very little, if anything.

Luis took the entire room by storm in the chillest way possible. Six pairs of wide eyes locked onto him as his smile turned toward Alexander – and softened substantially.

“That’s not quite fair,” he said. “You gave us no choice, with the way you treated us. It’s alright, though. I forgive you.”

Alexander choked.

The words dug a blade into Lance’s gut. _I forgive you._ Burned a hole through his brain. _I forgive you._ Made his breath wither and die in his throat. _I forgive you._

_How?_ He wanted to scream. _How do you say that, do that, like it’s easy? Can you teach me?_

Lance used to be able to do that. Forgive like it was nothing. Love the unlovable as if it didn’t hurt.

Sucked, didn’t it? How difficult that had become. How impossible. The world was a much simpler place before these last couple months of disappointment, rejection, and anger had hardened his heart to the compassionate outlook he once thrived on.

Lance made no move to knock Luis down a peg, though. He had no desire or intention to convince his brother to revoke that gifted forgiveness. It was cool he could still do that, that he hadn’t been broken of his empathy habit. Good for him. But Lance couldn’t relate.

He probably never would again.


	154. but counting down the days to go

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alright. Keith had something to concede.
> 
> Kids could be some goddamn cute-ass little fuckers.

“Seventy-three...seventy-two...uh, _one!_ Ready or not, here I come!”

Alright. Keith had something to concede.

Kids could be some goddamn cute-ass little fuckers.

At least when lance was part of the equation. He amended, smirking as he watched his sub straight-up fucking cheat at counting down from one hundred and begin to search the room in slow, dramatically predatory steps. He walked right past the curtains where two tiny feet stuck out, stomping in front of them and feigning obliviousness. A high-pitched, muffled giggled emerged, followed by the unmistakable sound of Nadia clapping a hand over her own mouth to shut herself up.

Fuck knew these little shits wouldn’t last a second in war. In hide and seek, though?

... _well._ Their skills were a bit rusty, honestly. But that was coming from him, the kindergarten king of hide and seek, who often stayed hidden long past the game was over and made teachers search for him in panicked frenzy. So maybe he simply had his bar set too high.

“Oh, gee, Lance,” Keith said from where he lounged on the couch, slow and loaded with sarcasm. “Have you checked behind the curtains?”

Lance shot him a heatless glare, corners of his lips twitching upward. “Yep! No little girls or boys behind the curtains. My kid-eating monster sense says so. Fih, fi, fo, fum, I’m gonna gobble them up, up, up…”

 _Fuck_. Was that his heart melting out of his chest and dripping into his stomach? Had to be. Holy shit.

Keith recalled Lance responding once to his, _how many kids do you want?_ with a flippant, _eight._ Whether or not that was meant to rile him up, he still had no idea, but he wouldn’t have been surprised if there turned out to be some truth in that desire. Lance sure as hell lit up around these tiny crotch goblins. He was _amazing_ with them, too, like he’d been the oldest child growing up rather than the youngest. Keeping youthful, chubby hands busy seemed to come all too easy for him.

 _Eight fucking kids_ was still firmly vetoed.

But two? Maybe even three?

“ _Ah-hah!_ My monster sense failed me – you _were_ behind the curtains! Prepare to be gobbled, young mortal!”

Yeah. He could stand to have a couple crotch goblins.


	155. it just ain't living (and i just hope you know)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Sooo...I realized something today.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YEEEEET this is a longer one!
> 
> two more chapters until the end of act 10!
> 
> enjoy!

“ _Sooo_...I realized something today.”

Lance poked incessantly at his side, no doubt encouraging him to scoot over and make room for the ‘cuddle bug,’ as he so childishly insisted on calling his own addiction to snuggles. _If you name it, you’ll get attached,_ Keith had warned him the first time he used the term, but did his sub listen? _Nooo._ Now he was a hopeless crackhead to cuddles. Served him damn right.

Keith groaned, arm thrown over his closed eyes. “Sorry. Snuggle shop is closed for the day. What’d you realize?”

“Seriously? I’m not going to say if you won’t even let me lie down with you.”

Lance huffed. Even without his sight, Keith knew he was pouting. Probably had his arms crossed, too. He had half a mind to drag himself from the dregs of grogginess just to sneak a peak and enjoy being correct.

He did. And he was, in fact, correct. Oh, sweet, sweet bragging rights.

“Just sit on my legs,” Keith grunted – then released a windless _oof_ as the world’s most delectable ass plopped right onto his stomach, packing all the power of a good punch. “Ow, _ow!_ The fuck, bitch? I said my legs, not my goddamn spleen!”

Lance had the audacity to _laugh_ _._ And it definitely didn’t leave him fending off a chuckle of his own, because this was definitely not even a little bit funny.

“You forgot how passive aggressive I am.” Lance hummed and bounced on his kidneys a few times. “That’s your own fault.”

“I do hope you realize this just sounds a hell of a lot like you’re _begging_ for a spanking, you brat.”

Lance hissed in warning, and Keith knew why, but two tiny voices babbled excitedly about the miracle of mac-n-cheese in the distance, the sound drifting from the kitchen to assure him Nadia and Sylvio were far too preoccupied to hear or even care. Also, he agreed with them. Pasta was a fucking godsend. Luis and Lisa were raising them right.

“Shut up! The kids are here! I really don’t want to have to explain to impressionable children why adults would ever spank other adults. Or explain to my brother _why_ I had to explain that to them.”

Keith felt the shudder roll through his sub’s body. He did laugh, then, just a little. “Chill the fuck out, you dork. They can’t even hear me. Come on – what was your big realization?”

“I don’t think I should tell you. You’re being mean and not cuddling me. Maybe I’ll just sit on your stomach for a while longer.”

“Bold of you to assume I take issue with having your ass all over me.” _Bounce, bounce, bounce._ “Shit. ‘Kay. Issue taken.”

“Mmhm. Thought so. Snuggle shop open yet?”

Keith finally lifted his arm and blinked blearily at Lance. The sub grinned down at him.

“ _Fine._ ” Keith heaved a sigh. “Come on in. We’re open for business. Reluctantly.”

Lance scoffed and rolled his eyes, even as he eagerly launched himself into Keith’s awaiting arms and wiggled close. “Oh, sure, ‘reluctantly.’ You love holding me, liar.”

“Never said I didn’t.”

“Then why’d you fight it?”

“Watching you beg is really fucking fun.” That earned him a weak punch to the shoulder. It nowhere near hurt, but he said, “Ow! And you say I’m the mean one?”

“Well, stop lying! I didn’t beg. I am extremely dignified, thank you very much.”

“Yeah, you always seem real dignified when you’re face-down in the pillows, taking my co-”

“ _Keith!_ ”

Still, the kids’ voices sounded from the kitchen, joined by Lisa’s as she bemusedly entertained their endless pasta questions. Keith laughed aloud at his sub’s paranoid fear of being overheard by his young niblings – and the blush that heated his face. The blush was damn funny, too.

“Jesus Christ, _relax._ ” He snickered as he wrapped his arms around Lance’s waist and squeezed tight, planting a small kiss on a collarbone that peeked out from beneath the other’s shirt. “Dunno if you’ve noticed, but I’m cuddling you now. You have your hostage. What was your big realization?”

“I didn’t say it was a _big_ realization.”

“Well, if it’s something small, you’re sure as hell dragging it out like it’s a big deal.” Keith took a leaf from the other’s book and poked his sub’s side, earning a ticklish flinch and a scoff. “Just tell me.”

Lance grew silent, and _that’s_ how Keith knew whatever epiphany he’d experienced really was a big deal. He always got quiet before he said hard things. Climbing his _‘wall of awful,’_ as Heigel called it, and he couldn’t share what he wanted to until he successfully reached the other side. Keith helped in the one small way he could – by joining his sub in his world of silence, holding him close as a wordless vow of support, and recruiting his limited supply of patience to help him _wait._

Waiting was damn hard. Knowing Lance could just bottle up his feelings if he couldn’t find the courage to speak them – and, even worse, knowing from experience that he _would_ bottle them up and shut Keith out, without hesitation – was way harder. Keith chose the easier difficulty. 

Patience paid off, just like Adam and Shiro always said it did. Half of Keith (an admittedly still very teenage half) cursed himself for allowing the mental admission that his parents were correct. Meanwhile, his more mature side fought an urge to sigh loudly in relief as it thanked them for the invaluable piece of advice.

“The way Luis forgave Alexander,” Lance said, voice little more than a strained whisper. He turned and nuzzled his nose into Keith’s chest, and Keith placed a supportive hand on the back of his head, cradling him with fingers intertwined in soft hair. “Like it was easy. Like...like he didn’t even have to _try._ ”

A searing-painful fire ignited in Keith’s gut. “You don’t have to forgive him, baby. You shouldn’t forgive him. He’s done way more damage to you than he has to Luis. And you never have to make a choice just because somebody else made it, anyway. I know big brothers are role models and all, but please, don’t feel obligated to forgive that douche. I doubt Luis meant for you to copy him. 

“No, but – that’s not the thing I was – look.” Lance sighed. His body deflated as he did so, like a popped balloon losing its will to float. Keith gripped him tighter. “My point was...our dad didn’t cooperate. Didn’t accept his forgiveness or even think he needed it. Right?”

Keith blinked slowly at the ceiling. “Right…?”

“So I won’t forgive him. I really don’t think I could even bring myself to, and that’s fine because, yeah, I shouldn’t. But what hit me when Luis said that was: I don’t _need_ Alexander’s permission to make my peace with him. I can let all my anger and resentment die when he does. He has no say in whether or not I drop my baggage on his grave. He _wants_ me to hold onto it, to hold onto my anger, because, in a way, that would mean holding onto him – but I don’t have to. And I won’t.”

Pride swelled in his chest and tears pricked his eyes. Lance must have sensed the copious amounts of approval seeping from his Dom, because Keith felt what had to be a smile twisting the sub’s lips upwards through the fabric of his old T-shirt.

“I love you,” Keith managed to choke out. “You’ve grown _so_ fucking much. Thank you for letting me be a part of it. Watching you heal yourself like this is just... _shit_. I really fucking love you.”

“So have you, Keith. Grown, I mean. A lot. I’m proud of you, too, and I love you just as much. Please don’t forget that.”

“Couldn’t fucking forget that if I tried, beautiful.”

Lance held his pinky finger up in the other’s line of sight, and it took him a moment to realize what was being asked of him. He laughed, loud and watery, the vibrations moving from his body to shake Lance’s as well. Keith wrapped his smaller pinky around the sub’s and shook.

“Pinky swear,” Lance said. “No take-backs.”

“Every time I call you grown-up, you do something to prove me wrong. Do you just enjoy being a child?”

Lance hummed in faux-thoughtfulness. “Well, being a child means chocolate milk and mac-n-cheese for lunch, so yes. Being a child sounds dope.”

“Children don’t say dope.”

“The funny ones do.”

“Kids aren’t funny. They’re annoying and they’re idiots.”

“The fact that they aren’t as smart as us is what makes them so funny.” Lance sighed. “What will your future _eight children_ say when they find out you once thought they were annoying and unintelligent?”

The throw-pillow battle that ‘eight children’ comment initiated was, honestly, more fun than he’d had in weeks (sex excluded, of course). Keith was surprised to discover he didn’t even mind when Nadia and Sylvio heard the telltale commotion of a play fight and came running, Lisa trailing behind to watch the chaos with a face-splitting grin. He welcomed the two into the fight gladly – _that’s four more tiny hands I can coax onto my team,_ Keith rationalized. 

He was wrong about his sub’s niece and nephew not lasting two minutes in war. For a three and five year old, they worked with a shocking valiance and loyalty, all too willing to team up with Keith and take down their Uncle Lance. Little fuckers put up one hell of a fight. The fact they could fling their entire bodyweights when pillows weren’t enough certainly helped.

Maybe, Keith thought – _maybe_ – kids weren’t all just selfish crotch goblins, after all.

They were...actually kinda cute.


	156. that if you say goodbye today, i'd ask you to be true

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They’d just barely finished lugging their overnight bags up to the dorm on Sunday afternoon, Lance’s still not fully well lungs and muscles burning from overexertion and Keith’s frown locked on his pale face, when she called to ask.
> 
> His phone jingled innocently enough – a freshly familiar sound. Mama’s designated ringtone.

They’d just barely finished lugging their overnight bags up to the dorm on Sunday afternoon, Lance’s still not fully well lungs and muscles burning from overexertion and Keith’s frown locked on his pale face, when she called to ask.

His phone jingled innocently enough – a freshly familiar sound. Mama’s designated ringtone.

Lance groaned. He buried himself further into Keith’s chest and tugged a corner of the comforter over his shoulder.

“Isn’t that your mom?” Keith asked quietly. A hand soothed up Lance’s covered back, fingers tracing his neck before they intertwined with his hair. “You should probably answer. Might be important.”

“She’ll leave a voicemail if it is.”

“Not if she’s been brainwashed into believing personal emergencies are an inconvenience to her own family. That she shouldn’t ask for help, because she’s a burden.”

 _That_ was a guilt trip, through and through.

And it worked.

Lance knew what it felt like to be an inconvenience, to be a burden. Or, at least, how it felt to regard himself as such; to walk through an emergency of personal safety alone, because the irrelevance of his own existence was an all too easy thing to believe. To imagine his mother feeling that way by his own hand, just because he couldn’t be bothered to do something as simple as take her call – a blade to the heart was the only way he could describe the _hurt_ that hypothetical brought with it.

God only knew how much worse that would hurt if it turned out to be truth.

Lance groaned again, but it was weaker this time. Reluctant, in a weird way. “Fine. Be like that. I’ll answer the stupid phone.”

“Well, I didn’t say you _had_ to.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Lance mumbled as he reached over Keith and pulled the device off its charger. “Heard the unspoken loud and clear.”

Keith sighed, leaned his head back onto the pillows, and rolled his eyes. Lance ignored him. He was far too preoccupied staring wide-eyed and unblinking at the screen of his graviphone.

Never would he have thought, before this school year started, that a simple task like answering the phone would be so damn _hard,_ that it would carry so much weight and uncertainty. That the little green ‘answer call’ button would swing wide as a pendulum between a soul-soothing chat with a loved one and the power of words to send his entire world crashing down around him.

Once again, just as he always had before, Lance took the call. Took the risk. Sure, the pendulum swung, and it was scary as hell.

Not knowing was scarier.

 

* * *

 

It turned out, thank _God,_ to not be that big of a deal.

Or, at least, not that big of a deal to Mama...he assumed. Maybe it was. But nothing in her voice during that call, tired yet light with a note of hopefulness, had indicated as much. She seemed to think she was just asking her son for a simple, everyday favor. Ordinary. Mundane.

Coffin shopping for his abusive father with his abused mother was not quite what Lance would call ‘mundane.’ Sure as hell wasn’t ordinary. Sure as hell was _not_ something he had even an inkling of interest in doing.

He’d swallowed hard against a grimace and agreed to accompany her, anyway. Mostly because the idea of leaving her to go out and buy her dying lifemate’s coffin alone was a thousand times worse than the idea of joining her. Both were torturous, but just like the swinging pendulum, that lottery of answering his phone, the latter option was just slightly less so.

And thus Lance found himself desperately trying not to projectile vomit all over an array of pretty wooden boxes bearing price tags that would make the average person feel weak-kneed and dizzy at Plant City Premier Caskets. Not exactly how he might picture spending a Monday evening after a long day of classes – _that_ picture usually involved Keith, and was quite literally the last place on earth he’d want his mother to be, for the sake of her own sanity – but there he was, nonetheless.

The woman who guided them around the store wore a black dress and oozed false sympathy. Lance wondered if she’d been in the business of death long enough to tell he was faking it, too.

“Do you have a certain kind of wood in mind?” She asked in a quiet, respectful tone, and Lance’s world stuttered for a moment when Mama replied:

“Cherry wood.”

 _Ebony wood,_ Alexander had told her the previous day, right before Lance zoned out of his parents’ little chat and latter snapped back to talk of orange flowers. _For my coffin. Pure ebony, none of that ‘blend’ bullshit. Something nice. Expensive. Have it imported if you need to; just don’t settle for cheap garbage. Not like you won’t be able to afford it._

Casket Lady smiled bittersweetly. “I think that’s a lovely choice.”

“Yes.” Mama returned the smile, and everything about it lit Lance’s brain with alarms that rang, _wrong, wrong, wrong!_ “My Dom does, too. Picked the cherry wood himself.”

 _No, he didn’t!_ Lance wanted to scream, but he bit his tongue and stared down at his feet, trying with all his might to fade into the background. Mama could make her own decisions. She didn’t need yet another man stepping in to control her. That was the very _last_ thing she needed.

And, really, it wasn’t for Alexander’s sake that he felt this private indignation. Lance couldn’t have given less of a shit if his father’s funeral was nothing like what he’d asked for.

The thought that took up uninvited residence in his mind was a much more debilitating one.

_When did my mother become a liar?_


	157. cause the hardest part of this is leaving you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “What did you think of that one, mijo?”
> 
> Mama broke the silence, and Lance snapped his eyes toward her, effectively yanked from his stupor.
> 
> He blinked slowly, stupidly. “Huh?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is the last chapter of act 10! act 11 starts tomorrow!
> 
> enjoy!

“What did you think of that one, _mijo?_ ”

Mama broke the silence, and Lance snapped his eyes toward her, effectively yanked from his stupor.

He blinked slowly, stupidly. “Huh?”

And there it was again: that fake, bittersweet smile, the same one she’d exchanged with a death-dealer lady not an hour before. As if he was meant to fall for that, to let it shut up all his doubts and uncertainties. Mama must have forgotten Lance knew her a thousand times better than any sales person in a casket shop ever could.

“The cherry wood casket, love,” Mama said. “Do you think we should keep looking, or is that a good one?”

Lance nodded. “Yeah. Sure. That one’s fine.”

It was plain to see she was fishing for a reaction – she _knew_ he knew what game she was playing at. Lance was far from an expert on burial rituals, a fact of which Mama had to be well-aware. What was his opinion worth?

His opinion on the casket? Nothing.

His opinion on her _actions?_

Everything.

He could see that ‘everything’ swimming in her eyes among a sea of sorrow, hesitance, and a thousand other, indistinguishably tangled emotions. “Really? You think that’s the one we should go with?”

“That’s up to you, Mama. I don’t know a whole lot about this sort of thing.” Lance stared at the table, fingers twisting in his lap. “What...what do _you_ think?”

Silence, easy but so far from comfortable, slipped back in as if refilling a vacated seat. _Hey, you two chatty Cathys, what did I miss?_

Lance clenched his teeth and seethed a breath from between them. _Go home, Silence, you’re drunk._

It hardly seemed worthwhile for him to ask that of his mother, in actuality. If she could lie to her own Dom and go behind his back in regards to his dying wishes, Lance thought bitterly, what else could she lie about? What else could she fake?

Who else could she betray?

Except that wasn’t fair, and he knew it. Alexander was not the average person, the average terminal cancer patient, the average Dom. Alexander deserved to be back-stabbed. With the way he treated Mama, he was all but asking for it.

_Does he_ really _deserve it, though?_ An annoying little voice – that drunken Silence, perhaps – nagged at him, prodded a finger against his arm. _Who’s bad enough to deserve their dying wishes for their own burial being ignored?_

Who was bad enough? Well, for starters: Alexander McClain.

So why was this bothering him so much? Why did something as stupid as Alexander being buried in a cherry wood box rather than ebony make his stomach twist?

It didn’t. Not really.

What made his stomach churn and his throat feel tight with nausea was the realization that his mother, the most saintly person he’d ever known, was capable of lying. The notion single-handedly turned his world on its head.

Mama took a long few moments to respond. And by ‘long,’ Lance meant they could have stretched out into an eternity, and he likely wouldn’t have noticed a difference. She took a slow sip of her drink, eyes locked blank and glazed onto the wall above Lance’s head, and pursed her lips.

“I think it’s beautiful,” she said. He had to lean closer to hear her over the dinner-rush hustle of the local diner they sat in. “I think it suits him.”

Of course she did – and she was right. The casket was a lie.

It suited him very, very well.


	158. [XI] i scraped my knees while i was praying

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Well...isn’t that a good thing?”
> 
> Adam stared him down, brows pinched in utter confusion, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned closer and closer forward as if to see the situation better. Keith had to bite his tongue as a building tsunami of anger threatened to overtake it.

**ACT ELEVEN: TURN IT OFF**

**(chapters 158-177)**

 

* * *

 

["Turn It Off" - Paramore](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xrhfuHQTbdI)

 

* * *

 

"As a little girl I was scared of monsters. My parents told me they didn't exist. How I wish they would have told me the whole truth. Monsters do exist; they're just not hiding in closets." - Leah Darrow

 

* * *

 

“Well...isn’t that a _good_ thing?”

Adam stared him down, brows pinched in utter confusion, elbows resting on his knees as he leaned closer and closer forward as if to see the situation better. Keith had to bite his tongue as a building tsunami of anger threatened to overtake it.

 _Not doing that anymore,_ he half-reminded, half-scolded himself. _No anger. Just talk it out._

Easier said than done. It took one long, quiet moment of self-reflection – something he never would have even fucking _considered_ doing until therapy became a thing in his everyday life – before he felt controlled enough to respond without combusting.

“Kind of,” Keith said slowly, tone low, and looked away from his father’s eyes as they began to stab at his mind and heart, searching for entry points. “In a way. Like...I’m glad Lance has realized that bastard’s no good for him and never will be. ‘Bout fucking time. I’m just...”

“You’re just worried he’ll feel differently once it’s too late.” Adam’s confusion melted and dripped to the floor. Sympathy and a comforting, warm type of understanding took its place. “You’re worried he’ll have to live the rest of his life with a regret he can never fix.”

Keith nodded numbly. “Yeah. Pretty much.”

With the weight of what had thus far gone unspoken lifted from his shoulders, Keith slumped back into the loveseat, heaved a sigh, and squeezed his eyes shut against a broken-backed exhaustion. Sure, hearing his train of thought spoken into existence by someone besides himself was a relief. It reminded him his head was not always quite so lonely a place as he made it out to be; others shared his same thoughts and feelings every now and again.

But with that relief, reality set in. Verbalizing his concerns was, by process, clarifying them.

There was nothing he could do.

A lot of things in life sucked. Some of them, he could, should, and would protect Lance from. This did not happen to be one of them. To protect Lance from this would mean to take command over a portion of his life no Dom had any right to command – and _that_ was a line Keith staunchly refused to cross.

Sure enough, Adam leveled him with a sorrowful expression, offered a sad smile. “I’m sorry, son. I know you’re scared you’ll have to watch him hurt...but there’s not always anything you can do about it, and there isn’t now. Sometimes, as Doms – as _good_ Doms – all we can do is watch.”

That sounded like one hell of a contradiction. ‘Good Doms will watch their subs suffer sometimes without stepping in to take the pilot’s seat.’ Didn’t that go against the very grain of a Dominant’s instincts? Wasn’t that a defiance of the nature of Domhood itself?

But no – it didn’t go against his role. It wasn’t a contradiction. It was nothing short of the full truth. Though helping might have been Keith’s intention had he decided to take over reigns which didn’t belong in his hands, that was by no means a guarantee helpfulness would be the end result. Quite the opposite, in fact. Forcing Lance to make amends with Alexander posed significantly more risk of damage and pain than it offered any chance of helping.

That small, gleaming sliver of a chance was hard to let go of. Keith’s metaphorical knuckles were white and sore with exertion when he released his grip on it – but release his grip, he did. He didn’t have much of a choice there, did he? He never had.

“Yeah,” Keith said. “I guess I’ll just have to...wait and see.”

Maybe that was for the best.


	159. and found a demon in my safest haven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith was concerned. When Keith was concerned for another’s well-being, he tended not to be good for much else until matters were resolved. This way of functioning was deeply ingrained in his DNA, intertwined with his more general hardheadedness, perhaps.
> 
> Therefore, he did the only thing a concerned Keith knew how to do in such a sticky situation. He waited until Adam excused himself to take a call from his work phone, and once the crescendo of the older Dom’s pleasant, professional voice drifted from the front porch, he hauled ass into the kitchen.
> 
> Keith snooped.

It was always a relief to talk things through with one of his fathers – or, preferably, _both_ of them, when Shiro wasn’t too busy dicking around out there in the final frontier. Keith was immensely grateful for Adam’s willingness to continue his guidance even without a lifemate by his side to help.

_However._

Something was not quite right in the Wyler/Shirogane home that day. Something was off.

To be specific: _Adam_ was not quite right.

Adam was off.

It was in the way he moved, the way he spoke, the way he _breathed,_ more than the way he looked. That run-ragged man wearing Adam’s face he and Lance encountered not long ago had, thank _fuck,_ not made a reappearance.

His more sociable and well-groomed twin, on the other hand…

Both the wrecked Adam and the slightly-wrecked Adam bore features regular Adam did not, which was ultimately what gave slightly-wrecked Adam away. Those tired, bag-bearing eyes could not be erased by any amount of sound advice or fatherly gestures. Nor could a slimmer frame, not alarmingly thin but thin enough to be noticeable, hide behind a kind smile.

Keith was concerned. When Keith was concerned for another’s well-being, he tended not to be good for much else until matters were resolved. This way of functioning was deeply ingrained in his DNA, intertwined with his more general hardheadedness, perhaps.

Therefore, he did the only thing a concerned Keith knew how to do in such a sticky situation. He waited until Adam excused himself to take a call from his work phone, and once the crescendo of the older Dom’s pleasant, professional voice drifted from the front porch, he hauled ass into the kitchen.

Keith snooped.

Holy _fuck,_ did he snoop. Concerned Keith synergized with nosy Keith, apparently. Was this what Heigel meant when she said he had to ‘get to know himself’?

Most likely not.

Oh, well.

The cabinets were raided first, both upper and lower, and shut with excessively gentle hands to minimize any noise. It was the weirdest fucking feeling ever to ‘snoop’ through cabinets he’d called his own only months before, but there he was.

Weird as fuck...and also useless. The cheap, wooden wall boxes showcased nothing but dishes and snacks. Drawers, too; they were loaded with silverware, cooking utensils, and collections of random junk, or simply left unoccupied. Normal shit. Boring. Mundane.

Now, the refrigerator – _that_ was where his little investigation really got interesting.

Adam was an absolutely phenomenal cook. Anybody who’d ever spent more than three hours at a time in the man’s home could testify to that much. One would think, after tasting his food, that his refrigerator would be stocked to capacity with fresh, high-quality ingredients. The last time he and Lance stayed for dinner, it still was.

Not anymore.

Keith couldn’t really blame him for not staying on top of the grocery shopping. After all, if Adam did something so silly as filling his fridge with food, how would he ever make room for the copious amounts of alcohol that now took up most of the shelf space?

He couldn’t house it all. _Duh._ It seemed food was the first thing to go in such a situation. Red wine took precedence over bunches of ripe grapes, if Adam had to choose (which he apparently did). Vodka in place of his beloved tenderloin steaks. Naturally.

Because this was a totally normal sight for one to stumble upon in a parent’s kitchen and definitely raised no red flags whatsoever.

_Fucking shit._

“Found what you were looking for?”

Keith’s blood ran cold and his heart stopped. He whirled on his heels, slamming the fridge door hard enough to hear all those glass bottles wobble and jingle.

Adam leaned against the counter, arms crossed over his chest, looking cool and collected as ever. At the sight, Keith’s pulse kickstarted back to life and broke into a sprint.

So his father was a secret alcoholic _and_ a secret master of stealth. Nice. Fantastic, truly. _Any other secret skills or hobbies I should be made aware of? Come on. We’re already at it. Might as well._

“I’m...” Keith sputtered, frozen and stupid with shock. He gestured vaguely at the kitchen around them, “I...I was just...”

“Sneaking around and foraging through my belongings. I know. I saw.”

Though he both looked and sounded perfectly calm, Adam’s disapproval radiated toward Keith like heat waves, his anger a desert sun. He had a funny way of doing that, portraying his emotions to others without actually portraying them at all. Letting others know exactly how he felt with nothing but monotone words and some sort of telepathic link. Keith had been on the receiving end of this treatment more often during his teen years than he could count on all his fingers and toes, each and every time he made a break for the shack or got suspended for a fist fight.

It was a thousand fucking times scarier than any clenched fists or raised voices could ever dream to be.

“It wasn’t like that,” Keith tried weakly, all too aware of and mortified by the pleading expression painted over his face. “It’s just that you’ve been – _you know_ – and I was-”

“I think you should leave now.”

This order, too, was given without the slightest inflection or emotion.

And make no mistake: it _was_ an order.

Keith gaped. “You’re kicking me out? I’m your kid!”

“You’re a grown man and a guest in my home, and you’re violating my privacy. I believe I asked you to leave my property.”

“ _But-_ ”

“Do you know what people do when unwanted guests won’t leave their homes, Keith? You’re nineteen years old. I can and _will_ call the police to report an adult who has been asked to leave a building I own and is refusing.”

It was a low blow, and Adam had to know that. He had to know Keith’s chest ached and panged at being treated like just another pesky houseguest.

Adam knew. He just didn’t care.

“Fine.” The words spewed like spitfire from his mouth before Keith could garner the willpower to censor them. “I’ll let you and your precious fucking vodka enjoy some alone time. Hope you’re very happy together.”

Adam made no further comment, nor did he budge an inch when Keith very purposely slammed their shoulders together on his way out of the kitchen.

So much for a fatherly fucking confidant.


	160. seems like it's getting harder to believe in anything

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance was, for the first time in several weeks, actually excited to go to an A.S.S. meeting.

Lance was, for the first time in several weeks, actually _excited_ to go to an A.S.S. meeting.

Their charity campaign – which he’d unapologetically allowed Nevaeh to bear the brunt of, in spite of her griping that such responsibility should come with the title of A.S.S. co-leader – had finally come to an end. Not that Lance hadn’t been interested in her aid-for-suffering-sub-children charity of choice, per say...more so that he was a hell of a lot more interested now that it was over, and he wouldn’t be asked to add poster creation and donation sequestering to his already overflowing to-do list.

One glance around the classroom as he entered dashed any excitement or hope from his mind like a Thanos snap.

Nobody jumped around, laughed, or goofed off as they usually did. Not even _Jude,_ which was the biggest shock of all. Rather, they all sat slumped in their seats, wearing varying shades of annoyance and dejection.

“Oh, no,” Lance mumbled, scanning the room with narrowed eyes as he slowly closed the door behind him. “I...guess we didn’t quite meet our estimated donation totals…?”

Nevaeh scoffed. “Exactly thirty-one dollars. I estimated almost a thousand.”

“... _oh._ Well...”

True, part of the reason he’d given her full reign over the project was his firsthand experience with just how productively manipulative she could be. But almost a thousand dollars? That might have been a little too ambitious of a goal in the first place, even for Nevaeh.

“That’s not even the worst part.” Leo sat with his arms crossed, stony expression aimed at the floor. “Have you seen our group page online? All the comments are about how ‘annoying’ and ‘preachy’ we are.”

“Yeah,” Alyssa said. “Because _somebody_ has no social etiquette and decided to forgo common courtesy to shove the fliers in people’s faces and yell at them instead.”

If Lance didn’t know any better, he might have claimed to see a flicker of hurt cross Nevaeh’s face as the dark-skinned Dom girl fixed her with a judgmental glare. It was gone as quickly as it manifested.

“It’s always worked for _me_.” Nevaeh stuck her chin high in the air and returned Alyssa’s judgment tenfold. “ _You_ were the one confusing people by being all sickly sweet. If you’d just stuck to the game plan-”

“The ‘game plan’ was bullshit. You’re just too stubborn to admit you have no idea what the hell you’re-”

“ _Guys!_ ”

Lance threw both palms over his eyes as he shouted, partially to shield himself from the four gazes that locked onto him in the pin-drop silence that followed. Mostly, though, because it gave his thumbs easier access to rub at his suddenly pounding temples.

Jude cleared their throat and piped up, voice more hesitant than Lance ever would have thought possible coming from them. “We can always, like, try again…? It might help to be on the same page next time.”

And that was exactly the problem, wasn’t it? Getting all five of them on a single wavelength was looking more and more like an actual, scientific impossibility.

“Okay.” Lance dragged his hands slowly down his face and blinked blearily at them. “Okay. Jude’s right. We just need a more – creative – tactic next time. No worries, alright? Just a minor setback.”

But, _damn,_ did a thousand ‘minor setbacks’ add up.


	161. than just to get lost in all my selfish thoughts

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I’m starting to feel like you’re a school principal or something.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> y'all idk what it is but there is SOMETHING in the air today, and i'm just??? SO fucking excited to finish writing requiem and outline the next story??? like??? hlp3 has me goddamn excited??? i know for sure what the title of hlp3 is now but i'm still gonna wait to announce it because i'm just eViL LiKe tHaT
> 
> enjoy!

“I’m starting to feel like you’re a school principal or something.”

Lance smiled wryly at Leo’s tease. There was a lot of truth to it – he certainly _felt_ like a high school principal, ‘or something.’ Holding his A.S.S. members back for an occasional friendly chat after meetings gave him the odd sensation he’d aged forty years in four minutes.

“It’s nothing bad this time, I promise.” Lance cracked a small smile of his own. “I just wanted to...check on you, I guess. You were pretty upset the last time we talked.”

Leo nodded, eyes wide and earnest, and hefted the strap of his backpack higher on his shoulder. “Yeah, no, totally! Everything’s going great now. I finally got a hold of that Dom, and he’s turning out to be a lot nicer than I thought he was.”

At once, all Lance’s relief at seeing Leo in such high spirits swirled and gurgled down the metaphorical drain. Blood ran ice-cold in his veins, and the smile slipped from his face. “...oh.”

Leo frowned.

“What’s _‘oh’_ mean?” He asked, almost defensively. It was an emotion Lance had never known him to display, and it did more than enough to confirm that he did, in fact, know _exactly_ what ‘oh’ meant. “Don’t tell me you’re gonna turn around and start being all judge-y. That’s the only reason I still haven’t told Nevaeh.”

A wise decision, no doubt. Nevaeh would rip that indecisive Dom boy’s head off...and then wash his blood down with a good pint or two of Leo’s, berating her fellow sub for his dumbassery all the while.

“I’m not being _judge-y,_ ” Lance said with a small huff of exasperation. “I’m just looking out for you, dude. Nevaeh and I both are. Do you really think it’s such a great idea of to get involved again with a guy who stood you up and took days to come up with an explanation?”

Leo shifted his weight from foot to foot. “Well...actually, uh...”

Lance blinked slowly and stared for a moment until, finally, realization crashed like a tidal wave.

“Are you...” He sputtered. “Leo, are you serious right now? He didn’t even _try_ to explain himself after standing you up, and you just took him back anyway?”

“What else was I supposed to do?! He’s hot, man!”

And there it was again: that temple-pounding stress. Only this time, it was accompanied by the unpleasant side effect of his blood beginning to boil in his veins.

“ _God,_ Leo.”

“What? I’m not doing anything wrong!”

Lance rubbed his hands down his face. “Don’t take this the wrong way, alright? I love you, dude – but you’re an _idiot._ ”

In defense of Leo’s anger, there was a wide array of better ways to phrase his concern which Lance could have chosen from. Probably a million better ways. This one was a low blow.

His anger felt like a punch to the gut all the same.

“You barely even _know_ me,” Leo said, low and dangerous. “And you sure as hell don’t know _him._ Who do you think you are?”

That was a fantastic question. What was the answer? His mind and heart were far too muddled nowadays to agree upon a copacetic reply.

“I don’t know,” Lance said, mostly because he wasn’t sure what else he _could_ say but the truth. “I was just – trying to help, I guess. I’m sorry.”

Was that last part the truth? Kind of. Maybe. Again: muddled. He was sorry for offending his friend, at least.

“Yeah. Maybe stay out of my life, hm? My relationship is none of your business.”

“...yeah.”

Maybe it wasn’t.


	162. i wanna know what it'd be like

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “We need to talk about Adam.”
> 
> Lance looked up from his notepad and quirked an almost amused eyebrow in Keith’s direction, but that spark of concern in his eyes was unmistakable. “Sounds like something you would name a bad indie movie, but alright. What’s up?”

“We need to talk about Adam.”

Lance looked up from his notepad and quirked an almost amused eyebrow in Keith’s direction, but that spark of concern in his eyes was unmistakable. “Sounds like something you would name a bad indie movie, but alright. What’s up?”

Keith took a deep breath. It did little to settle his frayed nerves.

How was he supposed to approach this? Shiro being gone so long – not to mention their limited contact with him – was taking its toll on all of them. Lance was certainly not on the bottom of the list of those affected. This news break would just be a cherry atop the shit-sundae his sub’s life had been as of late.

But that wasn’t an excuse to hold back.

“Okay.” This next breath was just as deep, but exhaled slowly from puffed cheeks as he settled on the bed next to Lance. “It’s – not great news, but I guess you kind of figured.”

“Yeah.” Lance’s voice grew softer even as he tensed, shoulders hunching inward as if his body wanted to devour itself whole. “I figured. But, like... _how_ not-great?”

“Really not-great.”

“Oh. Okay. I’m listening.”

Keith placed a hand on his mate’s knee, gentle; a false sense of security. He lulled the other into the difficult news with dishonest enticement of a security blanket.

Said blanket was nothing but a ruse, guilty as Keith felt for it. The grip he held now had no other purpose than to peel up enough of the band-aid’s age so he could rip it off.

“I snooped a little through his kitchen today while he was on the phone.” Keith silenced Lance’s _‘Look’_ of protest and whiny, _babe,_ with a firm shake of his head. “No – let me finish. Trust me, you’ll be grateful I’m such a nosy ass.”

Lance paled a couple shades. Keith suppressed a shudder at the indirect reminder of sickly his sub looked lying in a hospital bed so recently.

“Oh, God,” Lance murmured. “Please just tell me. I might actually die of suspense.”

“He’s drinking. A lot.”

“...how much is a lot?”

“There’s no room for food in his fridge.”

Lance breathed deep. Keith connected intimately to the pattern of it. _Four, seven, eight._ “That’s a lot. What...what are we supposed to do?”

“Have you ever seen a movie? Like, in your life?”

Lance blinked once, languid and rife with disbelief. “You want to stage a dramatic, Hollywood-style intervention? What, should we get a couple cameramen? Create a tear-jerking trailer? _We Need To Talk About Adam:_ the best bad indie film of the year.”

Keith fought a smirk that tugged at the corners of his lips. “This isn’t the time for banter.”

And, as Keith’s smile was born, Lance’s died. “It’s the perfect time for banter.”

Sucked, didn’t it? How right he was.

God knew they had no other viable coping skills.


	163. to find perfection in my pride, to see nothing in the light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This isn’t right.
> 
> Lance knew he had no rationale for feeling like that. He felt like that anyway.

_This isn’t right._

Lance knew he had no rationale for feeling like that. He felt like that anyway.

Nothing about the situation was unusual. He lay on Keith’s chest in the late-night hours, watching his mate sleep, and the Dom’s lungs worked in the same deep, peaceful rhythm they always had. He couldn’t pinpoint what felt different in the first place, let alone why he was so bothered by it.

But he _was_ bothered by it...whatever ‘it’ was.

Perhaps ‘it’ had something to do with the subtle, sidelong glances he and his lover had been shooting each other lately when they both thought the other wasn’t looking. He wondered if Keith caught his sub’s wary glances the same way Lance caught his.

Or maybe it was the rapid escalation into near-fighting their conversations had been climbing lately. _Simple_ conversations. Conversations about where they should go to _dinner_ , for Christ’s sake. Who knew Applebee’s could be such a touchy subject? Add it to the floor-length list of Keith’s many, many, _many_ ridiculous sore spots.

...or maybe it was _that._

How everything – every little, insignificant thing – annoyed him. How he _knew_ every little thing annoyed Keith, too.

How damn much that hurt.

Lance gazed up at his sleeping Dom through vision blurred by unshed tears, and cupped Keith’s face in his hands as he whispered: “I feel like I don’t know you anymore.”

It wasn’t a very nice feeling.


	164. or turn it off in all my spite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
> 
> Ah, Keith thought, even as his blood reached peak boiling points, bubbling angrily against the restraint of his veins. An addict in denial. Classic trope.
> 
> Maybe Lance was right. This was turning out to be a very Hollywood-esque type of intervention, after all.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

_Ah,_ Keith thought, even as his blood reached peak boiling points, bubbling angrily against the restraint of his veins. _An addict in denial. Classic trope._

Maybe Lance was right. This was turning out to be a very Hollywood-esque type of intervention, after all.

“Are we really going to do this again?” Lance sighed in the most dry, bone-weary way Keith had ever heard, the hands that were rubbing at his temples falling lifelessly to his lap. As much as he loved his father, Keith couldn’t help the anger and indignation that rose in his chest at the sound. Nobody had the goddamn _right_ to make his sub look so exhausted, so defeated. “Come on, Adam. We already know. I get that this is hard on you – but it’s hard on us, too. It’s hard to see you like this.”

‘Hard’ was an understatement. Keith could already see the walls going up. Adam’s eyes grew darker with each passing second, the cutoff rising slowly, word by word, brick by brick.

This was more than simply ‘hard.’ This was...just... _fuck._

...yeah, actually. That was the perfect way to describe it. _Fuck._ Fuck on a stick. Lance was always saying Keith wasn’t the best with words, but sometimes the concision came in handy.

“You boys are blowing this way out of proportion.” Adam laughed. Whether or not the humorlessness of it was intentional, Keith couldn’t tell. He could tell one thing, though: the brief glance his father shot him made it clear that by ‘you boys,’ he really just meant _Keith._

Keith was blowing this way out of proportion. Keith shouldn’t have made a big deal out of this. Keith shouldn’t have told Lance. Keith shouldn’t have snooped in the first place. Keith was the problem.

Lance set his lips into a grim line. “I don’t think we are.”

“It doesn’t matter if you _think_ you are, son. You _are._ Everything is fine.”

“Don’t talk to him like that,” Keith snapped, tongue sharp as a blade. “If you want to be angry at someone, be angry at me. Lance didn’t do a damn thing wrong. He’s just trying to help.”

Adam looked at him again. Keith might have expected to see another hefty dose of anger in his eyes. He found an uncertain kind of measurement instead – a questioning. Adam was questioning himself.

_Fucking good._

“I’m sorry, Lance,” Adam said with caution as he slowly turned his head toward the boy in question. “I suppose that...wasn’t quite fair of me, was it?”

Lance softened in an instant. Too damn forgiving for his own good, as usual. “It’s okay. I understand. Like I said, this has to be hard on you.”

Adam grew silent then, and Keith internally cursed himself for choosing _now,_ of all times, to act so goddamn protective. No doubt his little outburst had pushed the older Dom back into seclusion.

Just when Keith was starting to consider cutting their losses and calling it a day – with no lack of heart heaviness, mind you – Adam opened his mouth. The breath he took was quick and sharp. His words, on the other hand, took their sweet time to emerge.

“It’s not...a _huge_ issue,” Adam said. “I’ve been drinking more than I used to. More than is good for my liver, if I’m honest. But I don’t have a _problem,_ boys. It’s not like that. My lifemate is trillions of miles away from me. How would you feel?” He looked pointedly at Keith. “How would you cope with your sub being so far away from you, in Lord only knows what kind of danger, exploring uncharted territories?”

“I sure as fuck wouldn’t drink myself to death and let him come home to a headstone, for starters.”

Adam sighed and leaned back on the couch in an uncharacteristically dramatic display. As if Keith was the one being unreasonable here. “See? You don’t get it. You boys have never been apart from one another for more than a few hours at a time. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.”

“That’s a really weak excuse,” Lance said. No hint of malice of exasperation lingered in his voice; only a matter-of-fact tone with just the right amount of firmness. Adam looked up at him in mild surprise. “You don’t get to just say, ‘oh, you don’t understand,’ and go around doing whatever unhealthy things you think you need to do to get through the day. Life doesn’t work like that. We’re your family, Adam, and we care about you. We love you.”

“I...I know you do, son. I love you boys, too.”

“Really?” Lance raised a single brow nearly to his hairline.

Adam blinked at him as if he’d suddenly sprouted a second head. “Of course I do. Do you even need to ask? You two know how important you are to me.”

“Then why are you drinking instead of coming to us, your supposed family, who you supposedly love, for support?”

Again: _fuck on a stick._

At this point, Keith was more than content to lean back into the loveseat’s cushions, take a breather, and allow his sub’s ridiculously impressive coercion skills to proceed without him. Lance sure as hell seemed to have Adam right where they wanted him.

“That is a...very good question.” Adam’s pained whisper constricted Keith’s own heart, and he swallowed thickly. “I’m sorry, son. You’re right. I suppose I haven’t been the best father figure for you lately, have I?”

And there it was again: that humorless laugh Keith loathed so intensely. Nothing about it felt right. Nothing about it felt like _Adam._ Even throughout his previous tussles with depression, Keith had never known his father to be so self-deprecating.

“You don’t have to be the perfect role model all the time,” Lance said. “You’re always saying we’re adults now, right?”

“Well...yes, but-”

“Then don’t worry about us. This isn’t about us in the first place. This is about you.”

Adam blinked and swallowed, heavy; leaden. “Our anniversary is coming up. We’ve never been apart like this, let alone apart on our anniversary. I knew he’d be gone for it – exactly a year, so he’s missing an entire year of birthdays and holidays – but _still_...”

“It’s hard,” Lance whispered for the five thousandth time, but only now did the weight of the realization seem to strike him. A thin sheen of unshed tears covered his eyes. “I’m so sorry, Adam. I don’t know how Keith and I forgot your anniversary was almost here.”

“Yeah.” Keith echoed the sentiment in a bogged-down, choked voice. “Sorry. That was pretty shitty of us.”

Adam shook his head. “No, it wasn’t. You two have plenty to worry about without somebody else’s feelings to take into consideration. You have enough on your plates. I didn’t expect you to remember.”

“That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have,” Lance said. “ _I_ expected us to remember. You being alone on your anniversary for the first time – that’s a big deal.”

Keith cleared his throat in hopes of washing some of that nasty, emotional gunk away, and sat up straighter. “What if we had, like, a little party or something that day? Make it a family thing this year.”

It struck him a nanosecond too late that making a very personal annual event for his parents into a ‘family thing’ was slightly creepy. Adam didn’t seem to mind. His eyes matched Lance’s in that film of emotion when they locked onto Keith, and the younger Dom silently prayed this disease the other two called _feelings_ wouldn’t afflict him, too.

“You’d do that? Hang out with your boring old man instead of studying for all your big, important tests?”

“The fuck makes you think studying’s any less boring?”

Adam choked on his laugh, but thank fuck, it wasn’t such a dead noise this time. He actually sounded kind of _happy._

“We’d love to hang out with you instead of studying,” Lance agreed with a dry smirk. “We might be big nerds, but not that big.”

“Careful, sweetheart. Adam loved studying when he was in school. You might hurt his big, nerdy feelings.”

The decorative pillow Adam chucked at his face in retaliation was way fucking more than worth it.


	165. (in all my spite) i'll turn it off

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was on the drive home that all of Keith’s relief left him in a flood, as if his body was attempting to expel harmful toxins, and an entirely different beast of terror dug its claws into his chest.

It was on the drive home that all of Keith’s relief left him in a flood, as if his body was attempting to expel harmful toxins, and an entirely different beast of terror dug its claws into his chest.

“So that went better than expected,” he said with a happy sort of sigh, and a small smirk curled his mouth – but Lance didn’t respond. A quick glance toward the boy in the passenger seat found his attention fixated firmly on the graviphone in his hands. “Babe? Did you hear me?”

“Hm?” Lance murmured absently, and tore his eyes from the screen in a painstaking way. As if it was just more _interesting_ than Keith. “Oh. Sorry. You say something?”

Keith’s smirk was rapidly replaced by a troubled frown. “Um, yeah? I said that went better than I thought it would.”

“Oh. Hm. Yeah, totally.”

Within nanoseconds, he’d once again lost his sub’s attention. Failed to hold his intrigue. And, well – _that_ was new.

“Everything okay?” Keith asked slowly. If he hadn’t been driving, he might have been tempted to unpack his nosiness for a moment and peer over his sub’s shoulder to see what was so goddamn captivating. Hell, he was a little tempted to do so while driving, anyway, because seriously, what the fuck?

“Hold on,” Lance said slowly. “I’m doing something.”

Not just slow. Purposely slow. To Keith, such a subtlety sent a very clear message: _what I’m doing right now is more important to me than you are._

And fuck if that didn’t hurt like hell.

But Keith was a nice guy, right? Most of the time, at least, he liked to think he was kind to his sub, forgiving of his minor offenses, understanding of the sacred bubble of emotional space he needed to put up from time to time, particularly after feats which drained him of said emotions. So Keith kindly shut his mouth, allowed his sub to continue doing whatever the fuck it was he needed to do on his phone to recoup after a tough conversation, and opted for reaching to take his hand across the console instead.

He’d barely intertwined those lovely, slim, brown fingers with his own when Lance yanked his hand away with a scoff of outright _disgust._

“I need my hand,” his sub snapped, and it took all of Keith’s willpower not to shrink away in utter shock and hurt. “God. I told you, I’m doing something. Just…drive, please.”

Keith gulped around a sudden lump in his throat, blinking away the unfamiliar sting at the back of his eyes. The Feelings Bug that had all but overtaken Adam and Lance just an hour before seemed to be having a delayed impact on him.

“I was just...yeah. Okay.”

It was most fucking certainly not okay.


	166. AUTHOR'S NOTE: howdy, i'm not dead

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> and i oop--

**...hello**

you may or may not know me as the author of the hlp series. you know, the one who disappeared into the void four months ago?

long time, no see 😬

first of all: i'm not even done reading all the comments that have accumulated in my absence, and i'm already on the verge of tears with love and adoration for you guys. you are all so wonderful and i'm sorry i worried you with my absence. rest assured, i'm fine. nothing big or terrible happened to me. i was struggling with some mental health issues and, honestly, i just needed a break. i didn't leave you guys hanging out of the blue to be cruel, i promise. i just had to put myself first for once and take care of some things.

**most of you have probably figured out by now that i will not be continuing the happy little pill series.**

maybe some day in the future i'll share a much longer, much more detailed explanation for why i left - it wasn't because i was sick of hlp, or of you guys, or anything like that. for now, you'll just have to take me at my word: writing this series and watching it grow into an entire fandom of its own has been one of the best, most rewarding experiences of my life, and leaving was one of the hardest decisions i have ever made. i will never be able to repay you all for everything you've given me. you are all SO amazing. thank you, thank you, **_thank you._**

**you'll also have to take me at my word when i tell you that disappearing for 4 months was the best decision i could have made for myself at the time, and i don't regret it.**

i can't promise you guys i'll be fully active on tumblr again, either, but i'll probably be around.

**i will continue to write fanfiction on ao3!**

i will not be continuing hlp, but i will be writing more fic in the future for voltron/langst/klance and other fandoms. it just won't be hlp or related to hlp in any way. i'm actually considering making a whole new ao3 account so i don't have to go back to that mental place every time i see my hlp content. i'll keep you guys posted if/when i do that so you can join me under my new username. 

i know this is probably not the triumphant return a lot of you were hoping for, and i'm sorry. but, without going into too much detail, please believe me when i say this really is the best choice for me at this point in my life.

there were so many points in the past few months, especially recently, where i wanted so badly to pick back up where i left off with hlp. but picking back up on hlp would also mean picking back up on unhealthy habits i was clinging to while writing this series. i feel like i can't accept hlp back into my life anymore without dragging a darker part of myself back along with it. i can't go back there anymore. that darker part of me has healed. she no longer exists - and she, unfortunately, also held the key to hlp.

hlp and the issues i was going through at the time are way too mentally intertwined now for me to ever untangle them. i must ask you all to respect that, to respect my decision, and to refrain from asking me to continue hlp in the future. the answer has to be a solid no. sorry, and i love you, but no.

if you have any more questions, please feel free to ask! oh, and...

_**it's good to be back ❤** _


	167. an update on my writing: where you can now find me on tumblr

hey guys! just wanted to give you an update!

i have been outlining and am now beginning to write the first draft of an original YA dystopian novel! if you would like to follow me on my new tumblr to follow my progress/learn more about my story, you can now find me on tumblr @theuninspiredwriter. please note that i will not be sharing the actual writing from this novel yet, since even publishing a work online makes it technically published and significantly decreases my chances of a literary agent taking on my project in the future. 

thank you all for the love and support! i adore each and every one of you and hope you'll follow me on this new writing journey, from first draft to publication!


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